The Anatomy of Wit
by Chelsss
Summary: How far are you willing to go to claim back what is rightfully yours? All warfare is based on deception - with enemies at every corner, choosing whom to trust is the hardest game of them all. OC Character
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own the world of G.R.R Martin nor his characters.**

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><p><strong>The Anatomy of Wit:<strong>

How far are you willing to go to claim back what is rightfully yours? All warfare is based on deception - with enemies at every corner, choosing whom to trust is the hardest game of them all.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1:<strong>

_His brows were dripping in sweat, and his staggered breathe began to slow. The fire, which had engulfed the room in the early evening, had now diminished to a dull ember. His body, covered in his blankets began to shiver._

_She watched helplessly, unsure of what to do. The only thing she could do was to watch her father die. She grabbed his hand, now cold and clammy and clasped it tight, as if she forbade him to leave her alone._

"_Isn't there anything else you can do, Maester Pycelle?" she asked desperately._

_The Grand Maester, a frail old man of nearing 90 stood calmly by the door. Even under the heavy metal collar and the heavy grey robe that drowned his small figure, she could already sense his answer._

"_I've already given him the milk of poppy, my Lady. There isn't much more I can do for him but wait until the end," he said sadly._

_She closed her eyes to prevent the tears that threatened to fall. No, she told herself. She had to be strong right now; for herself and for her dying father._

"_What will I do without you now?" she whispered to herself._

_The door creaked open and she looked up to see a pale small boy at the entrance. His big eyes which bore into her own and for a brief moment it pained her that her little brother would be fatherless by the end of the night. "Will father be alright?" he asked timidly._

_She gave him a small smile, but said nothing to answer his question. She looked at him and wished so hard that she could comfort him, hold him and soothe him like a loving sister. Yet her heart felt nothing for the smaller child. Robert Arryn was her father's son; but they did not share the same mother._

_And he threatened everything that she held dear to her heart._

"_It's late my dear brother. Go find your mother," she said quietly._

"_Can I kiss father goodnight?" he asked innocently._

_She hesitated to answer. Would she deny a simple affection of love that a son would bear towards a father? Would she deny a final farewell?_

_"Make it quick, brother. Father is not feeling well and is already fast asleep," she said._

_The young boy ran over to her side and waited for his sister to carry him onto the bed. Her brother had been plagued with frequent fevers and illnesses as a baby and as a result was not strong enough to do many of the things a healthy six year old boy could. She lifted him up with ease and placed him beside her dying father and watched as the younger Arryn pecked his father's cheek._

"_Now off to bed Robert. Your mother will be waiting for you," she said as she lifted him back to the ground. _

_Without the slightest hesitation, the young Robert Arryn ran out the door and presumably off to nurse his mother's breast. She looked back at the father and inhaled a deep breathe. She knew she would be alone now; there would be no one to cry to or to lean on for support and no one to share her happiness or sorrows. This upcoming battle would be hers and hers alone to fight._

"_Goodbye father," she whispered._

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><p>The morning light shone through the windows, and the bells rung to signal that The Hand of the King was now dead, and King's Landing was in mourning. She walked purposefully to the Great Hall where the High Septon was to begin the Death Rites for her Father. Her black mourning gown flowed away from her body as she gazed down at her father's body in the midst of the Faith.<p>

"Your father will be missed," a voice broke out beside her. "He was a great friend to Robert."

She turned and smiled to the older woman, who was in her own mourning attire. "Thank you, your grace," she replied quietly.

"Will you be returning to the Eyrie?" the queen inquired. "Please know Isabel that you are _always_ welcome to stay at Red Keep. You were an indispensible asset to the king's council. I'm sure Lord Baelish would take you as an assistant of sorts."

The queen's face gave away nothing to Isabel. Sometimes she was a friend, and sometimes she was a foe. Whether the queen was being truly sincere, Isabel could not guess. "The Lady Arryn and her son left for the Eyrie at first light this morning. I don't imagine a very warm welcome from her if I chose to return," she replied warily.

A knowing smile crept up on the queen's face. "I've heard you have very weak relations to your mother."

"She's not my mother," Isabel snapped.

The smile remained on Cersei's face, knowing that she had struck a nerve with the younger woman. "My apologies, Isabel."

Cersei noticed the tears that were beginning to form in the young girl's eyes, and could not help but remember the death of her own mother all those years ago. For a brief moment, she felt sorry for the young Arryn girl. "Jon should have never brought you to the Red Keep, though I'm happy he did. But for a woman so young, you should be happily married with a husband somewhere other than here and away from all these…politics. This place…it's a never ending game."

Isabel gave a grim smile. "That dream was broken a long time ago. When my mother died…everything changed."

"Who was that boy you were betrothed to? A Stark boy wasn't it?"

Isabel noticed the frown on the queen's face upon mentioning the house that ruled the northern lands. She could not help but notice her own frown that was forming on her own face. _What are you up to Cersei Lannister?_

"Like I said, it was a long time. Those dreams don't matter anymore."

The rites were beginning, as a low drum broke their conversation and the High Septon now murmuring inaudible prayers. The two women looked down and the procession; one deep in thought about her own future and the other worried about the future of her realm.

"Who will be the Hand of the King now?" Isabel wondered out loud.

Cersei pretended not to hear the question, but she was wondering the same thing. _My brother should be Hand,_ she thought. As if she felt a pair of eyes on her, she looked up and noticed her beloved, adorned in the gold suit across the hall staring back at her as if he knew she was thinking about him.

_My beloved,_ she thought. _What a fine Hand you would make. We could rule all of Westeros together._

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><p>Isabel returned to her quarters by late afternoon, but had no appetite to eat. The maids and her guards bowed their heads as she walked down the hall in respect of her late father. As she sat down in the gardens to rest her eyes, a timid girl broke her silence, "Lord Baelish wishes to speak to you, my Lady."<p>

She took a huge breathe, her mind already wary of the sound of his name. Littlefinger was always up to no good, and always up to something, so her father had always said. She personally never trusted the man, and yet never escaped the lustful gazes that he bore towards her ever since she could remember.

"Send him in," she commanded.

He strode in as if he were king himself and took a seat to Isabel's right. She first met Petyr Baelish when she was only a little girl, first introduced by her father. As she the years went on and Isabel began helping her father with administrative duties, she had begun to learn of Petyr's questionable yet genius methods at financing the city. When Isabel had wanted to set up a trades post near the ports of Blackwater Rush, he of course gave her indispensible advice on how to run a successful business; at a price of course. No, she could not deny his intelligence and skill or even his usefulness, but she knew she could never trust him completely. She kept a straight face, mentally telling herself to stay sharp. _You are your father's daughter,_ she said to herself. _I am not afraid of anything._

"My condolences to you, Isabel," he said sadly. "Jon Arryn was a respected friend."

"Strange…he never used the word friend when he described you," she pondered out loud.

He let out a chuckle, ignoring her insult. "He was a clever man. Strange he fell to illness so fast. It seemed like just the other day he was boasting about going hunting with the King, because he felt in good health."

"What do you want Lord Baelish?"

"Well then, straight to business I suppose. It's always like that between you and I. Oh, how I wish we could be the very best of friends. Anyhow, Lord Varys and I were wondering…were you planning on returning to the Eyrie now? I can't imagine why you would stay here now that Jon is gone. But then again, I can't imagine you returning to the Vale now that your step-mother and brother now sits in the Moon Room."

She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing full well what Littlefinger was trying to do. "Tell me, did the Lady Arryn whisper those thoughts into your ear before or after you brought her to your bed?"

He brought his hand to his heart, "You break my heart Isabel. To accuse such dishonourable things between myself and Lysa…such empty words on your part. We were only very close childhood friends."

"I didn't know you thought yourself as an honourable man…what with the three whorehouses you manage on the side."

He gave a knowing smile. "Honour never brought me good business."

"The Vale is mine by right of birth," Isabel stated.

"She may dispute otherwise. Afterall, it is _her_ child that is a firstborn son."

"She knows nothing of the Vale, and nor does her sickly son. It is rightfully mine…and it's a battle I'm willing to fight." she spat.

"A fight you risk losing?" he inquired.

"I don't intend to lose Lord Baelish. I have seen the game of thrones played ever since I came to King's Landing when I was a child. I know the risks, and I know its rewards. Believe me when I say I intend to win."

"Oh, I don't doubt you at all."

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><p>The ports were always bustling with new stories from across the Narrow Sea. Ships from Bravos, Pentos and many of the other Free Cities docked at Blackwater Rush everyday with new goods to sell to the people of Westoros. The ports were Isabel's favourite part of King's Landing. Every merchant and trader had their own stories to tell, and every goods they sold had their own unique story. She'd hear tales of the legends, gods, kings and tribes as far as the Dothraki Plains to the Jade Sea which seemed worlds away from her. Being near the ports made the sadness and the memories of her father go away altogether.<p>

In time, these traders became good companions to her as she began conducting business with them. With the help of Petyr Baelish, Isabel had managed to own a private house near the ports for her to lodge the visiting merchants and to store her bought merchandise. It soon became a sanctuary for her during the times when the Red Keep was too much to handle, and much to her delight, it soon became a profitable venture.

"Lady Arryn!" a voice called out.

She turned her head towards a ship she instantly recognized. It was from Braavos, and one of her first friends in the business. Its purple hull was familiar by heart amongst the mass of ships along the ports. She smiled and walked towards the ship and watched as the Braavian men began to unload their goods onto shore.

"What lovely presents do you have for me today William?"

"I have but one present for you, my Lady….but the rest is for sale," he jested.

William was at least a head taller than her and twice as large the other way. She had heard tales of his excellent swordsmanship, though she had always had her doubts. However the size of his figure made it so easy for him to unload the endless amount of merchandise that he brought. He opened up one of the boxes and ruffled through a few items before he lifted out a small box and handed it over to Isabel. "I just heard about your father, my Lady…I am truly sorry. But alas! Perhaps something to cheer you up. A beautiful trinket for the most beautiful woman," he said.

She felt herself blush at the comment. "You jest with me William! I've heard the stories myself from you. The courtesans of Braavos are amongst the most beautiful women you've ever seen."

"Ah, but my Lady, they are beautiful, but if you were put in a room with all of them, you would surely be the shining star," he replied with a wink.

She carefully opened the box and found herself staring at a delicate gold chain and a red stone pendant. She smiled to herself as she held it between her fingers and put it around her neck. "Beautiful indeed."

"The old man I bought it from swore the pendant was once worn by the legendary Helena the Fair; one of the most beautiful courtesans that ever lived in Braavian history. I thought it fitting for you."

"William!" she exclaimed, "You flatter me too much. What ever will your wife say if she found out?"

He let out a loud laugh, "Do not fear my Lady Arryn. My wife knows of my attempts at trying to woo you, and she takes it all in good faith. She thinks you're too good for me!"

"This is definitely a woman I would like to meet in the near future."

"It would be my greatest honour."

The two friends went back to going through what William had brought from across the Narrow Sea. He was one of her best customers, remaining loyal after many years. Most of William's merchandise often went to the Red Keep. Boxes of silks, spices and rare weaponry, steel and jewels were some of the favourites with the Lannisters and their extended family. Other goods such as various trinkets, dried fruits, preserves and cloths were sold to Petyr Baelish and his flourishing establishments across the cities.

As the last boxes were carted off by one of her men back to her house, William took out a letter from his vest and handed it to her when he made sure that they were now alone. "He requests a meeting," he said quietly.

"Is he with you?"

"He arrives tonight during when the sun sets. He'll need lodging of course. And discretion is a must," William urged.

She raised an eyebrow as her eyes skimmed over the words of the letter. "Strange, he never crosses the Narrow Sea…must be important. I'll see that his every request is fulfilled. He knows where to go. When the City Watch passes through Shadowback Lane after the sun goes down, tell him a little bird will be waiting to escort him. He'll know where to meet."

"You won't be waiting for him?"

"I prefer not to be involved in their politics."

She went to her sash that was wrapped around her wash and undid the strings of the pouch that was filled gold coins and handed it to her business partner. "I believe there's more than enough in there to keep you satisfied for the time being…for your discretion in this matter of course."

He shook the pouch and listened to the coins jingle before reaching in and quickly counting them. He gave her a huge smile and took her hand and lightly pecked it. "As always, it's a pleasure doing business with you, my Lady."

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><p><strong>AN: Just another idea that popped in my head awhile back. Enjoy! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

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><p>The council room seemed empty now. Over the years, she had grown accustom to accompanying her father to many of the council meetings he held every week when he began to give her small tasks to complete for him. <em>There are different ways to battle a war,<em> his voice echoed in her brain.

Now standing in the room, which suddenly seemed a lot bigger than before, she felt wary for the coming days. With no Hand, who will run the kingdom? _Not Varys and Baelish I hope._

"Where is Stannis?" she inquired to no one in particular.

"Gone. Run away, who knows. That bastard," replied his younger brother Renly. With Robert on the throne, his two brothers Stannis and Renly had taken the back seat over the years, letting their king bask in the victorious glory while they were busy fighting to keep his throne. Isabel knew they resented Robert for it, but it was Robert who stood up against the Mad King during the rebellion and it was Robert who won the throne.

She looked over to the empty chair that her father once sat in, and let out a sigh. Petyr observing the young girl, followed her gaze and smirked at her. "Thinking of taking over your father's role Isabel? I've heard that chair in particular is quite comfortable. Not as...sharp as the Iron Throne."

She glared back at Petyr Baelish but said nothing in return. Sometimes, he wasn't worth her breathe. She took her usual spot, which was at the end of the table beside Lord Varys. Her father had given her regular task to record notes during the council meetings to which she had taken pride in over the years. As her father grew older, and herself a little wiser, he began to entrust Isabel on diplomatic missions on behalf of the Hand, allowing her to travel throughout Kings Landing and its neighbouring cities. She had once even made it all the way to Casterly Rock, much to her own displeasure. Nonetheless, the lessons she learned from the King's Council taught her how to play the game.

And it also taught her never to trust anyone.

Lord Varys cast a sideways glance at her, which she caught in the corner of her eye. They said nothing to each other, but he gave her the slightest of nods, an indication that his meeting last night went undisturbed and assumingly well.

"The King wishes to travel for Winterfell as early as tomorrow," said Renly.

"The King hasn't been to Winterfell for nearly a decade. What business does he have there?" asked Maester Pycelle.

"Robert and Ned Stark were both like sons to Jon Arryn. No doubt to grieve with his old friend."

"A new Hand perhaps? We all know Robert has gotten rather…paranoid over the years. All those lions dancing around his feet all these years…he needs a trusted friend here at the Red Keep."

"Ned would never leave Winterfell. He did it twice, he won't do it again," mused Petyr Baelish.

"Ned Stark is an honourable man. Free from corruption and ambition. Perhaps that's what the King needs. What he doesn't need is Jamie Lannister or his father in this council room." Isabel offered.

"Ah, Ned Stark is a rare specimen. But honour never got you very far in the South, and it most certainly doesn't keep you alive in King's Landing."

"It's the King's decision nonetheless," Renly stated. "Knowing the pompous bastard he is, he's making it a grand affair. He's taking the entire family, Lannisters and all with half of his men on his adventure. Cersei's not too happy about it, but she must do what the king says."

Petyr let out a small chuckle. "Bring the lions into the wolf's den…does he intend to start a war? It will be an expensive journey, but I'll finance the coin. Don't you worry."

"Will you be joining the travels Isabel?"

"Why would I be going to Winterfell?" she questioned.

"Lady Catelyn Stark is your step-mother's sister, and Ned Stark was fostered at the Eyrie with Jon. And let's not forget you were once betrothed to their eldest son up until only a few years ago. Seems to me like you're practically family with the Starks. I'm sure Robert wouldn't mind," Petyr mused.

"Well," she began trying her hardest not to lash out at the Master of the Coin. "I didn't know my personal life was up for discussion amongst the King's Council."

"Oh please don't take offense my Lady, I was only suggesting that it seemed fitting to grieve with the ones who knew Jon the most. A loss like this is hard on anyone, let alone such a fine lady like yourself. You need to be with people who can comfort, unlike the vultures here."

Before Isabel could lash out anymore, Maester Pycelle broke their growing argument. "It seems like the decision has already been made. Cersei has already requested Isabel to accompany her. Her children aren't used to long journeys, and she'll need another hand to help her."

Isabel folded her arms in frustration. "She has her septas for that. I'm not their babysitter."

Maester Pycelle gave her an earnest look that made Isabel feel like a small child being scolded. They both knew they could not deny a request for Cersei, not matter how much she put up a fight.

"And I expect you to send your reports on the King's proceedings," suggested Varys.

"Among other things," muttered Renly.

"Ah! So I must babysit the King as well?"

"Yes," stated Petyr Baelish.

Having had enough of Littlefinger's mind games, she abruptly stood from her seat and gathered her books and proceeded out of the room, excusing herself from the rest of the meeting. _I am not a king sitter,_ she said to herself.

_Ah! But my child, it's all apart of the game,_ whispered a voice. _Play this game and you shall be rewarded._

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><p><em>She sat perfectly still as her mother brushed her brunette hair which was now growing past her mid-back. She would do this everyday as far back as she could remember, every morning and every night. Her mother, gentle and loving would whisper sweet words into her ears.<em>

_"My lovely child, what a beautiful lady you will grow up to be one day," she mused._

"_Will I be as beautiful as you?" the innocent child asked. "Will I have my own daughter whose hair I can brush everyday?"_

_The mother smiled. "Of course darling! Perhaps you will have more than one daughters and perhaps sons as well."_

"_Father says when I'm old enough I'm to marry the young Lord Stark," she said quietly._

"_You seem unhappy, my child. Robb Stark is a strong and smart boy, not much older than yourself. His father was like a son to your own father."_

"_He smells like grass and he put a bug in my hair," she stated, remembering that only a week earlier she had just returned from Winterfell with her father to stay with the Stark family._

_Her mother chuckled. "I'd assume all boys smell like soil and grass at this age."_

"_Why can't I stay with you? Why must I accompany father to King's Landing?"_

"_It's what all little ladies do at your age. You have to leave and learn how to be a lady on your own. You'll be a stronger woman that way."_

"_Like you?" she asked hopefully._

"_Yes, like me. And perhaps one day, you will defend the Vale like your father with honour and justice."_

"_I heard some say that I could never be like father, because I'm a girl. They say girls aren't suppose to lead men or ride into battles and fight wars."_

_The mother turned her daughter around and looked straight into her eyes. "You are a trueborn Arryn. You are your father's daughter, and heir to the Arryn titles and lands. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."_

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><p>The raven arrived at dusk, just as Ned Stark's party was returning to Winterfell after bringing his sons to witness a deserter's execution. It was Bran's first one and Ned was initially reluctant to let the boy see such atrocities at such a young age. But he knew it was time for the young boy to grow up, just like his elder brothers Robb and Jon. Sooner or later, he realized, they would all become men of the North.<p>

His sons took no time wasting as they ran off to find their sisters to show them their new pets. Six direwolf pups had been found on their way back, and Bran had asked to keep them. Ned had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing. _Was it a good sign from the gods? Were they meant to be protectors for the long winter ahead?_

Maester Luwen arrived to meet Ned, just as he dismounted off his horse. "My Lord," he said. "I trust things went well. I couldn't notice you've brought home more than just yourselves."

They both looked over to the six direwolves that had now caught the attention of a small crowd. "Their mother was slain."

Maester Luwen took out a letter and handed it to Ned with a solemn look on his face, "I'm sorry my Lord. I'm afraid its not good news."

Ned took a silent gulp, dreading for the worst. He carefully unrolled the small scroll and read each word carefully as its meaning sunk in his heart. He closed his eyes in disbelief, and then reread the letter to confirm the news. "Jon Arryn is dead."

"A fever took him…but he was not strong enough to survive it," said Maester Luwen.

"Does Catelyn know?"

"Yes, my Lord. She is writing to her sister to express her condolences. But there's more," he added.

Ned looked up, unsure of what other news could be worse than to here that the man who practically raised him was now dead. Master Luwen took out another scroll and handed it over. Ned quickly skimmed it and pursed his lips. "King Robert and his party have set for Winterfell?"

"It seems like we'll be entertaining the entire King's court very soon."

"What is it father?" a voice broke out.

The two older men looked towards the door and saw Robb holding his wolf in his arms. Ned gave him a small smile. Just looking at his son reminded of his own time when he was forced to become a man. After his brother and father were murdered by the Mad King, it didn't take long for a young Ned Stark to avenge his family's honour and become a true man that his father would have been proud of. Though he wanted so badly for Robb to become a strong and just man of honour, he would never want Robb to witness the war and injustice that Ned fought against during the Rebellion. _No boy should ever have to live through those dark times._

"The king is coming to Winterfell," he told his son. "..and it looks like Isabel Arryn is amongst the party."

He waited for a reaction from Robb's face at the mention of her name. For a small second, he saw his son's eyes light up, but he was quick to mask his emotions from his father. He cleared his throat, "What business does the King have here at Winterfell?"

"Jon Arryn has passed away. Why the king journeys here…I don't know," he replied truthfully.

"And Isabel? Why is she coming to Winterfell?" he asked, though Ned could sense a hint of bitterness in son's voice.

"The letter doesn't mention anything else," he simply said and handed his son the letter. He watched his son's eyes skim its contents, and not once did his face give any emotion away. _It's been a little over four years since their engagement was broken, surely the resentment must have past,_ Ned pondered.

Robb handed back the letter to his father, "It sounds like they've already left King's Landing...they'll be here by the next full moon. It doesn't give us much time for us to prepare for their arrival."

Maester Luwen stepped forward and bowed his head, "I'll get started right away, my Lord."

The older Stark took his son by the arm and led him towards the Great Hall, and waited until they were alone. "You're taking her visit rather well I think," Ned observed.

Robb hesitated to answer and was slightly taken back at the sudden interest that his father had in Isabel Arryn. "I didn't expect to ever see her again. She made that pretty clear the last time she wrote to me," he replied truthfully.

"That was a long time ago," his father replied. "Times have changed, people grow up. Perhaps things will be different between the two of you."

"Why do I get the feeling you're still think there's still hope between us?" Robb asked suspiciously.

His father put up his hands in defeat and stifled a chuckle. "You two were inseparable as children. I don't believe that whatever happened is just gone. I'm sure she had reasons in breaking the betrothal, and now the gods have given you a second chance to mend things."

"Bloody hell, you're worse than mother."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

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><p>"<em>I don't see the point in this!" she yelled for the hundredth time. Isabel was tired, cranky and furious at her father. She had been confined to her rooms on the Queen's namesday. Instead of being able to attend one of the grandest feasts in all of Kings Landing, her father forced her to studyon the history of her house.<em>

"_I already know our history. By memory!" she continued complaining, "Why must you make me recite this again? On the Queen's names-day of all days? If this is some punishment for shooting that arrow at Sir Barristan Selmy, I swear it was an accident!"_

_Her father, who was sitting across from her put down his book and looked at her sternly in her eyes, "This is important my child."_

_She folded her arms in frustration. "How can this be more important that the Queen's namesday? I heard that there was going to be firecrackers that the King specifically imported from Lys!"_

_He sighed, but could not be enlightened at his daughter's naivety. "You are still young Isabel, barely ten summers old. But you must be wary of the things that tempt you here. Things are not what they seem, you must always remember that."_

_She furrowed her brows in confusion. "I don't understand." _

"_As you grow older, people will begin to expect things from you. And you must be ready to lead our people and our lands, which is why you must study your history. You must examine it, criticize it and learn from it. You must know it as if it ran through your veins. There will come a time in your life where you must decide whether your own selfish desires are more important to the good of our people and our realm."_

_Isabel let her arms fall to her side and she slouched in her chair. She knew what was expected of her; she knew it the moment she was a small child._

"_Is that why you're making me marry Robb? Because it's expected of me? What if I don't want to? What if I want to travel to the free cities?" she muttered._

_Her father softened his expression and gently patted her on the shoulders. "You will grow to love him, in time. My own marriage with your mother was not of my choice, but I came to love her with all my heart."_

_She gave a slight huff out of pure stubbornness, "I doubt it. The last time we saw each other, we wanted to rip each other throats out."_

_He gave a light chuckle, "And just you wait…that may blossom out of love."_

"_I doubt it," she replied._

_Jon Arryn let out a huge sigh, "There will come a time in the future when you will understand all of this. Great things will come for you, and you must be ready to face it."_

A tuck at the bottom of her cloak shook Isabel out of her memories, and she looked down to see Myrcella Baratheon seeking her attention. They have left king's landing about three weeks prior, and the journey was one that was an entire nightmare. The king would often stop to hunt, or to enjoy a feast in the countryside that would delay them for hours. Cersei would often call for her to keep her company when Jamie wasn't around to entertain her, as well as her two youngest children was constantly seeking her attention out of pure boredom and restlessness. The only time Isabel could find solitude was the rare time she was able to ride out alone, away from the royal family. "What is it little princess?"

"Will there be any children to play at Winterfell?" she asked innocently.

Isabel gave a small smile, "I imagine there should be. From what I remember there's two young ladies, and two young lads about you and your brother's age. Don't you worry, my princess I'm sure you'll get along with them just fine."

Isabel was unaware that Cersei was observing her with a smile – that very smile that Isabel could never tell if it was truly sincere. "I imagine you making a fine mother one day Isabel," she mused. "Have you any thoughts of marriage? If no longer the Stark boy, then someone else?"

Isabel hesitated to answer. _What answers are you searching for Cersei Lannister? Are you seeking an alliance between two great houses? Do you have your eyes set on the Vale?_

"I don't imagine myself marrying anytime soon truthfully. My father's body is not yet cold, and the Vale is now without a Lord. I must look towards my own people first before my own happiness."

"The Vale has the young Lord Robert Arryn."

She tensed at that statement, but quickly made herself relax. "Half of my bannermen would think otherwise," she said truthfully. And it was the simple truth. There were those who always remained loyal to her and recognized herself as the rightful heir; those who fought with her father during Robert's Rebellion.

"And yet it is a long hard battle to reclaim what's rightfully yours."

"What are you suggesting Cersei?" she snapped. Isabel rarely was so informal with her, but she was getting impatient.

"The house of Arryn is one of the Great Houses in Westeros and direct descendants of the Andal line. You yourself were born of pure blood. Your mother was an Arryn, unlike Lysa. You _do_ have the better claim, yet you do not have enough resources nor power to battle her. Lysa has her own family, and the Starks for her sister is Lady of Winterfell. What do you have? A handful of bannermen, maybe some sell swords? Your merchants from the Free Cities?"

The words stung her to her core, because she knew it was true. She was no warrior, and she had little to no influence outside her father's bannermen. The two women looked sternly at each other, and instantly knew what the other was thinking. "And a marriage between the Lannisters and myself…" she began carefully, "you would support my claim? Why would you do that? What do you get out of it?"

"An alliance," she simply stated.

_You mean kiss your father's arse?_ Isabel suddenly felt light headed and didn't feel like being in the carriage anymore. She motioned for the carriage to stop and called for her sworn knight, Ser Tommas to retrieve her horse. Isabel turned around to the Queen who now looked like she had won a mental battle between the two women. "An interesting proposition, my Queen," she said coolly. "I mustn't be rash in this decision, for all our sakes."

"Oh don't take too long though. This agreement has an expiry date," she said triumphantly.

* * *

><p>Lysa Arryn watched her son play with his wooden toy horse, worrying that he might hurt himself. From the moment she had given birth to him, she had never stopped worrying over him. He was the only good thing that came out of her marriage with Jon, and she promised herself that she would do everything in her power to protect her only son.<p>

They had barely settled into the Eyrie and yet each night spent here, she felt safer and further away from the troubles and treachery that lurked in every corner at the Red Keep. She hated Jon for bringing her there, and she hated Jon for never loving Robert like he loved Isabel. She hated Jon for never loving her.

The name of his eldest daughter made her blood boil. Her mere existence mocked her own marriage and mocked her son. Isabel also never accepted Lysa as her mother, and never bothered to hide it from the general public. She made a mockery out of her, and Lysa prayed everyday for the gods to punish her for making her life at the Red Keep so miserable.

And that day would soon come. But for now, she was back at the Eyrie. She was safe now.

_But why am I still worrying?_

She felt towards her own husband, but she had no choice. _It was the only way_, she told herself. She fidgeted in her seat, wondering if the truth about her involvement would ever be discovered.

_No, _she convinced herself. _Petyr assured me. He promised me._

She fidgeted in her chair and let herself relax as her eyes watched her perfect son playing wistfully with his wooden horse.

_I am safe now. I am Regent of the Vale, and my son, Lord of the Vale. No one will challenge me. Not even her._

* * *

><p>It felt like ages before they reached the gates of Winterfell. One month. <em>One Bloody long month.<em> But they were finally here. The cold winds immediately pricked her skin, forgetting what little tolerance she had for the Northern weather. She drew her cloak closer to her body and she craned her neck to see a small crowd of people patiently waiting for them to arrive. She immediately recognized the Stark family, standing proud like true Northerners.

She jumped off her horse, as King Robert immediately darted towards his old friend. Isabel found herself distracted as she looked around, trying to remember the last time she was here. _Must be when I was about fourteen, I suppose. Seems like ages ago._

"Isabel!" roared the King, motioning for her to greet the Stark family.

She strode over and met Ned Stark's eyes which bore such sadness, it almost brought tears to her eyes. _He grieves for his foster father._

"Isabel," he said softly. "You've grown so much since the last laid my eyes upon you."

He drew her into a hug and whispered in her ears, "I'm so sorry about your father. This can't be easy for you."

She gave me a small smile, "You grieve for him as much as I do. He was like a father to you."

She moved to her left and kissed her step-mother's kin on both cheeks, before she too was expressing her condolences. "How is my sister doing?"

"She left King's Landing before I could see her," she said hiding her resentment. "I suppose she grieves in her own way."

They were interrupted when the King, growing impatient yelled for Ned to accompany to the crypt, while Cersei walked away to lead her children to their quarters.

Her eyes fell upon the Stark children, and in particular Robb, who was staring intently at her, unsure of what to do or say. He had grown up, she admitted to herself. He was at least half a head taller than her, and was even now growing a beard just like his father. He was no longer the boy she remembered, but someone entirely different.

"Robb," she said fondly.

"My Lady," he replied formally, before taking her hand and lightly pecking it.

"No need to be so formal Robb," she said humorously.

She saw him tightened his throat before letting himself relax and gave her a small smile in return. She turned her attention to the other children, who all eager to greet her.

"Oh you must tell me about what it's like in the South. The fashion, the knights, the ladies!" squealed Sansa.

"You must go riding with me," cried Bran.

"Me too!" added Arya.

"I want you to see Lady! Our father got us direwolves!"

"And Shaggydog! Oh Isabel, you must meet Shaggydog!" piped Rickon.

Overwhelmed, Isabel could do nothing but laugh, agreeing to every one of their requests. The questions were non-stop, from wanting tales about the Free Cities, to court gossip and tourneys.

"Alright now, off with you all. Give Isabel some room to breathe," cried Jon. He motioned for them to shoo and told them to bother her during that evening's feast.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly. "I'm not used to such excitement."

Jon too, had grown up. He looked nothing like Robb, though they shared the same father. Jon looked like a true Northerner, with his dark eyes, broad shoulders and dark hair. He too, had grown up into a man. Like old friends, she linked arms with Jon and walked in the courtyard, recalling their childhood memories. Isbael noticed that Robb had mysteriously disappeared amongst his siblings' excitement. Catching on, Jon reassured her, "It's been a long time since he last saw you. I guess he doesn't know how to take your return. Afterall…you sort of broke his young boy's heart."

She winced at his statement. "About that…"

"Please…do me and favour and don't you start telling me your secrets. I've had enough of that from my brother. But what I can tell you is that he never took his eyes off you the moment you rode in through those gates."

Her stomach churned uncomfortably. She didn't expect to feel this way. Truthfully, she wasn't expecting to feel anything at all. It's what she was taught. She had known her whole life she was to marry Robb before her mother died. There were no surprises, no courting…nothing. But now, she felt…well, she didn't know what she well, for the feeling felt completely foreign to her. Her mind suddenly went rushing back to the memories of the day she wrote the letter announcing the end of her betrothal.

'_You did what?" yelled her father._

"_I ended it. I sent the raven today," she said defiantly._

"_That is not your call!" he yelled angrily. "You will write another letter, explaining that you were rash and didn't know what you were thinking this instance. I'll not have you ruining your mother's wishes by some stupid ill-thought decision you've made."_

"_Don't you dare bring my mother into this!" she snapped back. "My mother knew for ages that I never wanted to marry that Stark boy. This marriage was your dream! Not hers! Or mine! You don't even care what I want!"_

_A pain reached her cheek followed by a stinging throb before she realized that she had been struck across the cheek. The tears started forming around her eyes and she glared at her father with such hatred._

"_Isabel...what is this about," he said, his voice softened yet remained angry._

"_Don't," she snapped, on the brink of crying. "I hate it here. I hate your wife. I hate that my mother is dead. I hate that you won't let me return to the Eyrie. I hate that that woman believes she has the right to meddle in my business. I hate that you side with her!"_

_Her ramblings brought her down to her knees and she found herself sitting on the floor and sobbing uncontrollably. Jon scooped her up and brought her to her room, stroking her head trying to comfort his daughter._

'_Why did you end the engagement?" he asked one last time._

_She remained silent for a moment, trying to compose herself, trying to stop the tears that were now flowing down her cheeks. "I cannot marry him. I cannot marry anyone."_

_Jon was confused for a moment, but decided to press on. "Do you love him?"_

_She again, remained silent. Jon could tell she was fighting an internal battle and in that instance he knew she had feelings for the Stark boy, yet something had caused her to end her chance at happiness. _

"_Lysa is pregnant with your son. He threatens everything that I believed to be mine. If I marry, I will relinquish my rights to him. I will lose everything. You said yourself that one day I would have to sacrifice my own happiness for duty. And so I did. It had to be done!"_

_Jon hugged his daughter and kissed her on the forehead. "My foolish daughter. Nothing will ever be taken from you, I promise you that. No one will ever take what's rightfully yours."_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Isabel had learned from her father very quickly that whatever the king desired, he almost always got what he wanted – at whatever the cost. This had been the norm in King's Landing; with every politican, soldier or even anyone with the slightest greed for power, they were willing to do anything to please the King. Unfortunately for the House of Stark, the King had brought his entire court and Southern lifestyle to Winterfell and now hosting the most elaborate and raucous feast that the North had ever seen.

King Robert wasted no time in placing himself in the middle of the Great Hall and surrounding himself with the northern women, placing a particular striking redhead on his lap while another brunette was filling up his cup. The Queen had looked on with disdain and disgust while she looked at her husband who made no effort to hide his hatred for his wife. Lady Catelyn Stark who was seated next to the Queen and unfamiliar with court life could look on with some discomfort, unsure of what to think or say to comfort Cersei Lannister.

Isabel had spent most of her evening with the Stark and Baratheon children, dining, drinking and answering whatever question Sansa and her companion, Jeyne Poole had. Throughout their gossips, she had also begun to notice the side glances that Sansa had been giving Joffrey Baratheon who was seated at the end of the table. It was an all too familiar gaze that Isabel herself was once guilty of when she was a young and naïve girl who would fall head over heels with the knights at the tourneys she was so fond of in her early years. It was a look of pure blind infatuation and adoration; foolish, addictive and extremely dangerous.

Robb Stark had seated himself across from her, yet had not said a single word to her the entire night. He had busied himself with conversing with Theon Grey, the Stark's ward rarely giving her a glance, smile or acknowledgement. It was as if he thought she was some sort of ghost, and it surprisingly made her feel sad.

"What's Prince Joffrey like?" Sansa asked, interrupting her thoughts.

The question caught her off guard causing her to drop her fork on her plate. She looked up, at Sansa looking up at her with glistening eyes, waiting to her about the prince of her dreams. Isabel smiled, cautiously wording her thoughts carefully in her head, unsure of what to say to please the young girl. She gave a quick glance towards the prince, who was comfortably slouched in his seat, with the infamous Lannister smirk on his face.

_Your prince is the epitome of his mother; manipulative, arrogant, ungrateful and oh, unfit to be king._

"He is…certainly popular amongst the young ladies at court, "she began slowly, which earned her a small squeak from Sansa. "He's proud, like his mother….and for his age...he does well with his sword. He trains hard everyday, as he hopes to be like his uncle Jamie one day."

The two girls squealed in delight and proceeded to giggle between their gossiping. "You shouldn't encourage them like that," a voice broke out.

It was the first time he had spoken to her tonight. "The Lannisters are vile creatures. You of all people at this table should know that," he muttered.

"Let your sister live in her dreams of castles and princes….she's still young. She'll grow out of it in time."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" she asked suspiciously.

"When did your dreams of castles and princes stop?" he asked in a louder voice causing Arya and Theon, who were sitting next to them to stop and observe them.

Isabel remained silent and only stared at him. She watched him as he clenched his jar and hardened his eyes at her, giving her such a cold stare that it gave her slight chills.

She knew he wanted answers - answers she wasn't ready to give.

"The day my mother died," she muttered bitterly, hoping to end the conversation. Having felt her appetite suddenly lost, she excused herself from the table.

Robb watched her leave his presence, his eyes following her as she glided her way through the other tables and down the hall before being stopped by a taller man in pale blue silver coated armour, with the unmistakable carvings of inscriptions of the ancient runes of House Royce of Runestone, whom he could only assume was her sworn knight, Ser Tommas Royce, a sworn bannermen to her late father. Her back was faced to him, but saw it noticeably stiffen as Ser Tommas handed over a letter for her. In an instant, her whole demeanor had changed, as her body slightly swayed from left to right, threatening to fall to the ground, unconsciously causing him to react by standing up from his seat ready to run to her without a second thought.

Theon put his hand on his arm, motioning him to sit down. "What's gotten into you?" he slurred out.

Robb said nothing as he took his seat, as he watched the two figures walk out hastily from his sight, now being drowned by the surrounding guests. "You know, I must say…you're doing an _awfully_ good job at wooing her back. Keep it up, and maybe, just maybe she'll say 'hello' back one day," Theon drunkenly mused.

"Oh, what do you know?" Robb asked.

"Well, my friend," he began and wrapped his arm around Robb's neck. "I know, in my experience with the ladies, that you have to at least try to look interested…smiling won't hurt either. Oh! And maybe a 'hello, lovely to meet you' might help as well, and don't forg-"

"I get the point!" Robb interrupted. "Look, I'm not trying to do anything. We've both moved on, we've both grown up and in a few days we'll probably never see each other again."

A high shriek broke out beside him, as he turned to see Sansa's face covered in food and quickly developing a deep shade of red on her cheeks from the embarrassment, while his youngest sister, Arya now laughing hysterically was holding a spoon in her direction. He could only guess that Arya was up to her old mischief again, having the ability to always upset the older girl. A stern look from his mother wiped his smile on his face and sent him straight to his little sister and grabbing her from underneath her arms and lifting her off her seat.

"Bedtime for you now," he said.

"Not fair!" she whined, as she tried to wiggle her way out of her older brother's arms.

"Between you and me, it was a good shot," he whispered. "Don't tell mother I said that though."

* * *

><p>"Where did you get this?" she demanded.<p>

"A serving boy gave it to me, my Lady. He ran off before I could inquire any further," he said.

Ser Tommas watched his Lady pace back and forth in the stables where they had gone to talk in privacy. The piece of paper now scrunched in her hands was delivered to him during the chaos of drunken knights and lords in the dining hall. It was not addressed to anyone, so he had read it, not knowing the dangerous words which were written within it. He had watched her when he first delivered it to her, how the blood had completely drained from her face as she read the letter and how she almost fainted in the dining hall if he hadn't had caught her in time to steady her.

It was his job to watch her, serve her and protect her. Her father had entrusted the safety of his daughter to him when she first arrived in King's Landing, and he had faithfully and loyally done his duty ever since.

"Find the boy and his master," she said with fierce determination.

Her hands clenched the letter between palms, using every ounce of strength in her body to crush the words that had sent her into rage. The words were echoing in her mind, playing over and over again unable to rid herself from it.

_Jon Arryn's death was no accident. You only have yourself to blame. May you burn in the seven hells for this murderous act you committed. All of Westeros will learn of your true nature._

She leaned against the stone cold walls of the stable and closed her eyes to compose herself. The letter was not long; instead its simplicity had strengthened its dark message. Every word felt like someone had stabbed Isabel in the chest over and over again, bringing unimaginable pain to her heart. _What would you do in this situation father?_ _Tell me what to do._

"My Lady…I must ask," Ser Tommas began slowly, "Are…any of these words true?"

"Of course not!" she snapped. "I loved my father with all my heart. I would have never plotted against him. _Never._ Whoever sends this message seeks to rob me of any allies or support. They seek to tarnish my reputation! They seek to have me dead…and I shall intend to find out whom."

The silent demand was understood by Ser Tommas. He bowed his head in understanding and left immediately to find the young messenger.

Isabel closed her eyes once more, and slowed down her breathe trying to calm herself. _Never act rash. Anger, revenge and hatred will cloud your judgement,_ his voiced echoed. _Stay calm, and make your choices wisely._

"Why would anybody accuse me of such a vile act?" she whispered to herself.

The motives were unclear to her, sending her into a million questions. Was it the Lannisters? They never hid their lust for power and were always known to blackmail their enemies into submission. Maybe the Freys? Their loyalties had always been called into question since the Rebellion, and even her father was always weary of their intentions. Or was it another greater enemy that she has yet to meet? But, the most important question that now haunted her: Was her really father murdered?

_No, he couldn't have been,_ she thought. _Who would want the Hand of the King dead?_

"Almost everyone in King's Landing," she answered to herself.

She looked at the crumpled parchment in her palm. _No one must ever know about this,_ she thought to herself. She went to the fire lamp which was hanging on the stone wall and put the parchment in its flames, watching as it became engulfed in the fire, and erasing all traces that the letter had ever appeared.

* * *

><p>He waited at the usual spot within the trees of Shadowback Lane, where he was well hidden from the main road. The sun was setting, and the City Watch was about to finish their patrol. Magister Illyrio had not anticipated sailing back to Westeros so soon, but there were new developments in the Free Cities that needed to be addressed.<p>

A ruffle in the shadows caught his attention, and he looked behind to inspect its source. He carefully walked deeper within the woods when a small child, no more than six summers old emerged from behind a tree beckoning for him to follow. _Varys' little birds._

He never fully understood why so many of Varys' spies were children, but he had his guesses. They were small and quick; perfect for climbing walls, crawling through tight spaces and difficult at getting caught. And most importantly, they were free from any sort of ambition and greed that grown men were so often tempted with.

The small child led him to cave, hidden well away from any civilized setting within the City. Not many people knew about the secret passages that led into the castle, and those who did were now dead. There was only one person in King's Landing who knew of all the hidden secrets of the Red Keep, and that man was the Master of Whispers. Arriving at his intended destination, the small child disappeared from his sight before he could thank him. With only a small fire lamp to guide his way, he made his way into the dark cave to meet with an old friend.

"And what news from the Free Cities?" a voice broke out.

Varys emerged from the shadows, hidden between the cracks of the rock. They clasped each other's forearms like old friends and began walking together, conversing about their next steps.

"She will marry the Khal, and very soon I suspect. Viserys is most eager for her to be wedded off as soon as possible. The quicker she becomes Khaleesi, the sooner he gets his army."

"Then everything is going as planned then," Varys said, satisfied at the news.

"For the time being," Illyrio agreed. "But the Dothraki are very proud people. It will take some time and convincing to get them to agree to invade Westeros…and they'll also need a bit of luck. They'll never get on a ship…and I haven't yet figured out a solution yet. Without the Dothraki army, I'm afraid they'll never have the chance to invade."

"Well, you and I both know that we don't intend to have Viserys on the throne," he said discreetly.

"I know."

"Is there anything else?"

"Most still loyal to the Targaryens are exiled to the Free Cities, and those who still dwell in Westeros are scattered across the lands and have gone into hiding. You and I both know that for this invasion to happen, they will need many friends from both sides of the sea."

"Ah!" Varys piped in, "I'm glad to see we've both thought of this. And I have a solution…it will take some time, but the plans have already been set in motion and I have full confidence that they'll come to agreement."

"Now you've peaked my interest, old friend," he inquired.

"They'll need a great house to support them…one that has sworn houses, bannermen, money…a great house that is still respected throughout Westeros. House Martell _will_ fight for our cause, but they're too afraid of the Lannisters to do anything at the moment. And now…Jon Arryn's death has now created a new opportunity."

"You speak of his daughter, the Lady Isabel Arryn?"

"She seeks to claim her father's lands and titles, yet she had no means to do so. She's no one left to turn to within the Seven Kingdoms and so she'll be forced to consider to reach across the Narrow Sea for help. Isabel Arryn has much to gain in this alliance as do we."

"She'll never have it…and neither will they. It was her father that started the rebellion, along with Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon."

Varys put up his hand and smiled at his old friend. "And yet they'll need each other's support to seek what they desire most. My dear friend, in all my years at King's Landing and serving the realm, I've learned this: Men will do anything to achieve their deepest ambitions, including befriend their enemies. They'll do anything to win the game of thrones. Murder, lies, betrayal…men become monsters when driven by power and greed. Give me some time my friend. My moves have already been made, and now we wait for our pawns to eliminate each other."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **The timeline got a little jigged, in order to better fit my story. Lysa and Jon would have originally been married at the beginning of Robert's Rebellion, while his second wife, Rowena Arryn passing away many years prior with no children. I decided to have Lysa and Jon's marriage move up a few years, just to give some relationship between Isabel and her mother, which then will set up the relationship between Lysa and Isabel. (And those of you asking about Isabel's age, she would have been born during the rebellion…But I've made the age sort of deliberately ambiguous.)

I hope the deviation doesn't offend anyone too much! A bit of Robb/Isabel interaction to compensate :)

And lastly, many thanks to the reviews and feedback from fellow readers - I really do appreciate it! (**Brightroar, rikka21, Shahzadi, BeyondTheHorizonisHope, ****Trulzxoxo**, and those anonymous reviewers so far!)

* * *

><p>Chapter 5:<p>

_She held tight to her mother's hand, promising herself that she'd never let her go until they were safely back at home. The carriage had come to a complete halt after many months on King's Road. It was her first trip outside the Eyrie, and though her initial excitement had distracted her for some time, the long and boring journey had quickly diminished all energy in the young six year old girl._

_The carriage door opened, inviting a cold breeze through her cloak. sending chills down her spine and gripping her mother's hand even tightened. Rowena Arryn smiled warmly at her daughter, and beckoned her daughter to step out._

"_I want to go home," she whined. "It's cold up here."_

"_Isabel," her mother soothed, "I promise you, you'll have the best of times here at Winterfell. There are hot springs, and forests, mountains, and your father has even agreed to let you ride a horse for this special occasion!"_

"_There aren't even any girls here to play with!" she said stubbornly._

"_Well then…I suppose I'll have to tell your father not to let you ride a horse. If you want to play with proper young ladies, I'll suppose I get the Septa to give you more lessons…" her mother trailed off, hoping to cheer Isabel up._

"_Oh, please don't!" Isabel said quickly, momentarily forgetting the fight she was trying to win. "I want to ride a horse! Please mother!"_

_The two ladies stepped out of the carriage, and were greeted by the Lord and Lady of Winterfell and their family. Jon Arryn was already quick to embrace Eddard Stark in a warm hug, eager to see his friend. Jon Arryn's visit was one of multiple purposes. Balon Greyjoy had not two months earlier declared himself King of the Iron Sea and sought to rebel against King Robert Baratheon's rule. Jon Arryn was sent to seek Ned into helping him bring down Balon Greyjoy's claim. It was also the first time that Jon had decided to bring his wife and his daughter oh his journey as well. He knew it was time for his daughter to meet the young Lord Robb Stark._

_After all, they would be eventually married._

_Isabel hid behind the skirts of her mother's dress, desperately wanting to stay hidden away. She wasn't used to so many strangers staring and smiling at her. Back at the Eyrie, she had grown accustomed with the many knights and lords that would greet her as if she was their own. She knew everybody by name and by their coat of arms. But now she was in a new and strange place, where the faces were new and foreign._

"_And you must be Isabel Arryn," said Catelyn Stark, bending down to the young girl's eye level, "it's very nice to meet you."_

_Isabel slowly crept out from behind her mother, but still refused to let go of her hand. She dipped into a slightly awkward curtsey and said in barely above a whisper, "My Lady."_

_Catelyn Stark gave her the warmest of smiles, which made Isabel feel slightly more comfortable. She gave the Lady of Winterfell a small smile – a sign of acceptance into her world._

"_This is my son, Robb Stark," she took a young boy's hand and brought him forward so the two children could finally meet. _

_He was slightly taller than her, and he looked just as afraid and shy of the new guests at his home. His dark red curls hung in front of his eyes, making Isabel squint as she struggled to study his face. A nudge from his mother caused him to furrow his brows as the young lord whispered a faint 'hello' at the young lady._

"_Hello," she whispered back._

* * *

><p>She had trouble sleeping throughout the night, with nightmares that plagued her mind during her sleep. Refusing to join the Starks or the Lannisters for breakfast the next morning, she had decided to remain in her rooms, playing over and over again the events of the night before. It was a situation that she felt like she needed someone to talk to, someone to listen and someone who could help.<p>

But that person was no longer there for her. And now she was left alone – alone to ponder her own thoughts and alone to fight her own battles.

Her father was everything to Isabel Arryn. From a young age, there wasn't almost anything that Jon wouldn't do for his daughter. When Rowena Arryn had passed away from a cold chill, Jon had made every effort to ensure that his daughter would grow up into a strong and steadfast woman – one that he could be proud of, and could continue his legacy.

Never in a million years would she ever suspect she'd be accused of the death of her father. She knew whoever sent that message was trying to control her, manipulate her and scare her. The thought increased her determination to find the culprit and prove them wrong.

_They will always underestimate you,_ a voice echoed in her head. _That will be your greatest strength._

"I am my father's daughter," she repeated to herself. "I am not afraid of anything."

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She rose from her seat, briefly making sure she was presentable and opened the door, thinking it was Ser Tommas with new developments on last night's events.

Her shoulders slightly sunk in disappointment as she found herself staring at a pair of blue eyes that was hidden behind a few curls of dark red hair. He too had noticed the slight disappointment and was quick to wipe his smile with a very awkward cough.

"Robb," she said. "Is there something you needed?"

He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say or how to begin. He found himself wandering the halls after breakfast after noticing that she was not present and quickly lost interest in the sparring session that Jon and himself were planning on having later in the afternoon. Instead, he found himself walking through the halls, stopping in front of her door, and before he could stop himself, he was knocking, hoping she would answer. _Why am I here?_

"We..um,..missed you at breakfast," he spluttered out, mentally berating himself at not being able to say something more interesting. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine," she lied. "Had a bit too much to drink last night, that's all. But I'm feeling better now."

Again, Robb's voice had failed him leading to another awkward silence between them. After what felt like an eternity, before even thinking Robb suddenly blurted out, "Come riding with me."

He closed his eyes at his own stupidity. "I mean," he said trying to correct himself, "Would you like to accompany me on an afternoon ride, my Lady?"

An unfamiliar feeling in her stomach sent a rush of warmth through Isabel's body, causing a small smile to appear on her face. Though they had known each other for many years, she had to admit, Robb Stark felt like a complete stranger at that very moment.

"Yes," she found herself saying. "I would very much like that."

The pair kept their distance from each other as they made their way down the stables, where Robb hastily made his way to saddle two horses. Handing her the reigns of a grey horse, she mounted up with ease, surprising Robb, who was about to offer her some help. Feeling a slight blush creeping into his cheeks, Robb coughed uncomfortably and mounted on his own horse.

_Keep it together Robb,_ he said to himself. _What's the matter with you?_

"Where are we going?" she asked, adjusting her weight on the saddle.

Robb thought for a moment, unsure of their destination when suddenly an idea clicked in his head. "When's the last time you've seen the cliffs?" recalling their memories as children when they use to ride out to watch the sunset.

He watched her eyes as they lit up, also recalling their childhood memories which brought a smile to her face. No words were needed between them, their eyes giving each other acknowledgement to the other's thoughts. They young pair then set off, riding through the gates and into the woods to their destination.

The awkward tension soon dissipated, as Isabel felt a sudden rush of energy as the wind wiped her hair out of her cloak. The stress from her father's death had seemingly disappeared off her shoulders as she kicked her horse to go faster. She turned her side to make sure Robb was keeping up with her. He held a mischievous glint in his eyes, keeping up her pace for a moment, before he sped up in front of her.

It was a challenge; a race – a game they used to play when they were younger.

She let out a laugh, the first one since her father's death, and it felt absolutely liberating. In that very moment, she forget about the Vale, her father, Lysa and Robert Arryn. She forgot about the Free Cities, King's landing and the Red Keep.

She quickly gained speed and was soon at the tail of Robb's trail before he pulled on his reigns and slowed his pace. He nudged his horse closer to hers, as they both recognized the off path that would eventually lead to an open clearing at the edge of the mountain. It was a small dirt track that was too steep for their horses to climb, so they decided to tie their horses to a nearby tree and continue their way by foot.

The path soon opened up to the most beautiful view of the North. They could see Winterfell not far in the distance, as well as the tiny speck of a white mountain near the horizon, where the Wall and Castle Black was. The greenery and mountains stretched into infinity; a testament of the vast and treacherous plains of the Northern lands that was never truly conquered by the Andals in history.

"Beautiful," she said to herself.

She found a dry rock and took a seat, wrapped her cloak tightly around her body and continued to stare out onto the landscape. Robb, following suit sat down next to her, but maintained his distance. He too, kept his eyes to the view.

Neither said anything, but both soaked in the silence and listened to the birds, the winds and the rustles of the leaves and branches behind them.

Yet, Isabel knew the question still lingered over their heads. "You can just ask you know," she said quietly.

It took a moment before Robb had the courage to ask the pondering question. "Why?"

It was one word, but a simple question that had plagued Robb for many years until he had just simply forgotten about her – that is, until Jon Arryn died, and all his memories about her resurfaced. Now, the same question reemerged from his memories, and he had not been able to focus on anything but that.

She let out a sighed, unsure of how to response. Would she tell him of the real reason?

"Everything changed when my mother died," she began slowly, careful to control her emotions. "Marriage was simply not an option for me...it wasn't because I didn't care for you Robb...I made a promise to myself a long time ago..duty above everything else."

"I…don't understand."

"Of course you won't. You're not a woman," she jested. "Marriage comes easy to you men. You can marry whomever you choose, and hope you will have sons and daughters to carry on your name."

He remained silent, acknowledging the truth in her words and waited for her to continue. "I'm expected to marry one day…I know that, but I refuse to use marriage as a political tool. I sometimes look to my own father, married three times for politics and sometimes I wonder if he ever truly loved any of them. I don't want that life..if I marry, it will be for my own happiness. But now, there are duties I must fulfill, battles I must fight alone before I can look for my own...that is, if the seven chooses to bless me with such a life."

He pulled his hand through his hair, accepting her words and sighed. "You will get your happiness one day," he reassured her. "If it not with me…then perhaps another lord. But you'll have your happy ending. I refuse to believe that someone as beautiful and headstrong as you will be condemned to a life of misery."

She turned to face him and smiled at his compliment and felt relieved, feeling another small burden lifted off her shoulders. She inched closer to his figure and put her head on his shoulder, where the softness of the furs on his cloak tickled her skin. She closed her eyes, and let the moment sink into her heart - she felt calm and at peace. "I must confess, I've thought of you..after it ended..from time to time, wondering what you looked like, what your voice was like...what kind of man you've become."

"Seeing me again, have I disappointed you?" he quietly asked.

"You could never disappoint me, Robb Stark. _Never," _she whispered into the furs of his cloak.

He took her hand slowly, and pulled the glove off from her hand and lightly traced his fingers on her exposed skin, which was lightly tanned from the southern climate. He brought her hand to his lips and lightly pecked it, a sign of simple affection and adoration. "And here I thought you broke our betrothal because I kept putting insects in your hair," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

She broke out in a small laughter, recalling the memory when he secretly placed a grasshopper in her hair when they had met for the first time. By the time she had discovered it, she shrieked in such horror that her mother had to remove her from the dining hall because she wouldn't stop crying.

"You know, I've still never forgiven you for that," she replied through her laughter.

* * *

><p>They returned to the castle by late afternoon. They no longer had the awkwardness that had plagued them, but returned as if they were old friends catching up and remembering their childhoods past. But whatever laughs and smiles shared between them had almost instantly disappeared when they approached a rather chaotic and disheveled state of the inner courtyard of Winterfell.<p>

Servants were running around, with some yelling and looking for Maester Luwen, with others were riding out to find the King's hunting party. A young page boy had run into the stables, and stopped in front of Robb. He heaved heavily between his breathe, as if he had been running for miles.

"My…Lord," he said as he panted, "it's you-…your broth-..brother, Master Bran….he fell...he's hurt."

Isabel and Robb looked at each other sensing the urgency and fear in the page boy's voice. The colour from Robb's face had drained, as he feared the worst for his younger brother. With a knowing look, Isabel whispered, "Go to him."

She had never seen anyone run as fast as Robb did, and with a blink of an eye, he had disappeared from her sight. "How did he fall?" she asked the page boy.

"My Lad-..y Stark thi..thinks he fell from the old wa-watch tower," he sputtered out. "Master Bran never falls…_never._"

The page boy gave a quick bow and ran off when somehow had called him to help the Maester to gather his things, leaving Isabel alone in the stables. She decided to return to her rooms, wanting to leave the family in their privacy, choosing to inquire about Bran's condition until later in the evening.

Entering the corridor, she unmistakably spotted the pale blue armoured knight which was approaching in her direction. "Tommas, did you hear about Bran?" she asked worriedly.

"I did my Lady...it is the most unfortunate news. His direwolf came running back to the courtyard and wouldn't start barking until someone would follow him. They found him, near the old watch tower barely clinging to life," he said quietly, "however... I wish to speak to you about another matter."

Understanding his meaning, she lowered her voice. "You found the boy?"

He nodded his head, but the grim look on his face sent a dark feeling to the pit of her stomach. "Is he…alive?" she asked cautiously.

"I found him in the woods, hidden well away from the main road towards Winter Town. Someone had run him over, and left him there for the wolves. I found nothing on him, save for a small pouch of coins. I'm sorry my Lady."

She let out a heavy sigh, "Was anyone with you when you found him?"

"No, no one followed me out of Winterfell. I took the child's body into Winter Town, but no one recognized him. I paid the innkeeper a few coins to give him a proper burial though. Poor boy, he probably was just looking for a warm meal, and this is what he gets."

"Since when did the world of men begin using children to do their dirty deeds?" she spat out. "When did we start murdering them in the name of power?"

Her thoughts went to her own brother, a child that was unknowingly caught in a political web. Would his life meet the same fate?

"What will you have me do now?" asked Ser Tommas.

"Nothing for now," she answered. "Though, I believe it is the right time we return to the Vale. We must seek out our friends, and learn who our enemies are. Send the ravens out to our bannermen. Tell them that their Lady will be returning."

* * *

><p><em>The young lord slept soundly in his bed, stirring occasionally as if he was having a bad dream. It was the third seizure this month that had plagued the young Robert Arryn. Maester Coleman didn't think he would have survived this one due to his weakened state, sending his mother Lysa Arryn in a hysterical rage. The entire Arryn household remained grim, all hoping and praying that their little lord would wake again.<em>

_Everybody, except Isabel Arryn._

_She now sat in the corner of her brother's room, offering to watch him throughout the night in case his condition changed. It was a task that had been forced upon her by her father, much to her dismay. But after seeing the grief and despair that her step-mother and her father were in, she felt guilty and reluctantly accepted the task._

_Isabel stared at his sleeping form, studying his figure. He was a small boy, even for his young age. He had dark brown hair, like her father and herself, while he had inherited his mother's eyes – large, bulgy and ice blue. _

"_Oh little brother," she whispered. _

_From the moment Robert Arryn was born, she knew he would not have an easy life. He was the firstborn son of Jon Arryn, a son he had longed for his entire life, a dream that even Rowena Arryn could not fulfill. Robert's birth put her dreams in jeopardy and she knew it would eventually put his life at risk too._

_She was young, but she was not stupid - she knew how this game played. She had witnessed the terrible sacrifices that men had made in the name of power. She had witnessed first hand at the sacrifice her father made to cement an alliance with the Riverlands. No, Isabel was not stupid – she knew her father did not remarry for love or happiness._

_They will manipulate, plot and scheme in name of Robert Arryn to steal Isabel's birthright. And it was the sole reason why she hated the sickly boy who was sleeping in front of her. Her eyes went to the spare pillow which was next to Robert's head, and was mesmerized by it as if it was calling her name._

_It would quick and easy, a sinister voice whispered in the room. They will say he would have passed in his sleep._

_She stood up from her chair and walked over to the bed, until her shadow loomed over her brother's sleeping form. As if he felt her presence, Robert moaned in his sleep and turned his head so that she was staring into his face. _

_With him gone, everything will be back to normal, the voice whispered again. The Vale will be yours._

_She hesitated for a moment, considering reaching over and grabbing the pillow to rob him of his breathe. Would she dare do it? It would be a simple death, and an easy solution to all her woes. No one would suspect her, as she'd claim he simply never woke up from his sleep. With her brother gone, everything would be right again. Would she dare take the life of a child, one that was barely blossomed into this world?_

_Isabel sighed and sat herself at the edge of the bed. "No," she whispered out loud, "I will not rob you of your life...it is not mine to take. No, not tonight."_

_She bent her head and brought her lips to his brow and kissed it, a small affection towards an innocent child, unaware of the dark world around him. "Sleep dreams, Robert. May you never know of the dangerous world we live in."_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

The next few days were muddled into a blur. The days following Bran's accident was met with chaos, cries, and panic and it wasn't long until the mood at Winterfell quickly soured, falling into an eerie silence. Not only did they mourn for Bran Stark, they were also losing their Lord, who was now set for King's Road to become the new Hand of the King. No new news about Bran had reached her ears, only that he was now in a deep coma and his chances at ever walking again would be very small.

She had barely seen Robb since that day, for he quickly fell into the role of steward, with the responsibility of Winterfell falling onto his shoulders with his father now absent. The time they did manage to catch a glimpse of one another were quick, almost stolen moments in time, with either party too busy tending to another's needs. With the King's party returning to the south, Isabel had to help the Queen and her children pack, while Robb took an increasing role at running his father's castle. Jon, too was rarely around. He had spent most of his days in the courtyard, sparring with Benjen Stark, having decided to make his way to the Wall and take the Black. Isabel was barely at Winterfell for a week and she had witnessed the once happy family now being torn apart, going their separate ways and the sadness and tears that followed. King Robert was eager to return to Winterfell, now that Ned Stark was the new Hand of the King. It also meant that Isabel was set to leave for the Vale – to return home, and set things right and fulfill her duty.

She never expected it to be so difficult, leaving him again. But she needed too, for the words of her father echoed in her mind.

"_You must leave so soon?" he asked._

"_I must return home, Robb," she said, "It's time now."_

"_Surely you can't delay for a few more days?"_

_She saw the hope in his eyes. He needed another shoulder to lean on with his father leaving; he needed someone who could help him. Isabel wanted to say yes and give into the temptation of her own desires, but the voice in her head convinced her otherwise. _

"_You know I can't Robb..__.the Vale needs me," she said._

"_Write to me... he said abruptly, "Write to me like we did when we were younger."_

_She sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted at the game she was playing. They both knew that anything between them would be impossible, yet both were desperately clinging on to some foolish hope that maybe, just maybe things could work. "Robb..." she began, but was cut off._

"_I know what you're going say. But whatever battles you must fight, you don't have to do it alone. Isabel, please…I can't do this by myself. I'm not ready," he confessed. "With Bran…and my father...Jon…my sisters gone...and you...everybody is disappearing. I worry for everybody…I worry for you."_

"_I can't promise you anything…" she slowly said, "...that this might be something more."_

"_Write to me," he asked again. They held each other's gaze, one full of hope and worry for those he cared about and the other full of fear, worried for what the future held. His meaning was clear, and all Isabel had to do was to agree._

"_Everyday," she found herself saying in quiet whisper, giving him a small smile. She stood on the tips of her toes, and placed a small kiss on his cheek; a keepsake for him to hold onto so it would ease his worries. _

_She gave into her desires, so she should have been elated, like a young lovesick girl. On the contrary, her heart sank with fear and she didn't understand why._

It was now two weeks since her visit to Winterfell, and only days after when she decided to part ways from the royal entourage and made her way east, to the High Road leading to the Vale, with a small party for added protection. She gripped her reigns in anticipation, unsure of how the events would fold out. Would her father's bannermen accept her or cast her aside for her younger brother?

They were now at the edge of the Mountains of the Moon, home to the Mountain clans who were uncontrollable and defiant over the Arryn rule. It was a treacherous pass that was a half a day's ride before they reached the Bloody Gate.

"We will wait for Lord Hersy and his men to accompany our party through the Mountains," instructed Ser Tommas.

"How long?" asked Isabel, anxious to step foot into the Eyrie once again.

"Not long now, I suppose," the knight guessed.

Isabel shifted her weight, unable to calm herself at the anticipation of returning home, and afraid that she would not recognize it anymore. Sensing her eagerness, Ser Tommas placed his hand on her shoulder, which instantly stopped the young woman from fidgeting.

"It'll be alright," he reassured her. "He will come. They'll all come to pledge their allegiance to you."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked with uncertainty. Her thoughts lingered to the mysterious letter that was sent to her in Winterfell. She still needed to find its author, and unravel the mystery surrounding her father's death. If the ravens were sent out accusing her of murder, would her father's bannermen still stand by her side?

"The lords don't care about who has the better claim," he said in honesty. "They care about your ability to rule, to command and to lead. Your brother cannot lead these men into battle, nor rule over them in times of peace."

"And I can?"

"It's in your blood, my Lady. They _will _come," he said. The words spoke truth to Ser Tommas, and he believed in them faithfully. Her brother was no leader, compared to Isabel Arryn. He knew many of the lords and knights had questioned the capabilities of the young lord, and wondered if the young boy would even make it past his next names-day. No, Ser Tommas believed that Isabel was the true heir. He watched her father raise her into a warrior and a ruler, and knew in his heart that she would make her father proud.

The low rumblings of horses could be heard in the distance deep within the mountains, a sign that Lord Hersy and his men were fast approaching. The sigil of the winged chalice, the arms of House Hersy of Newkeep stood proudly on their flag as the figures appeared onto the horizon.

Lord Hersy was a rather large and stocky man, whom Isabel thought might have seen better days in his youth. Yet his eyes still carried a fire of ferocity and strength that was rumoured to bring his opponents down to their knees. He was a loyal friend to her father, fighting in the rebellion along his side, and again during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion only six years later. The years had taken a toll on his face. He looked tired and weathered, but his eyes burn with fire, suggesting he still had some fight left in him.

"My Lady," he said gruffly. "We've come to escort you through these mountains."

"And I thank you, Lord Hersy," she said graciously. "You did not have to go out of your way for me."

He scoffed at her remark, "These mountain clans have no regard for lords and ladies. All they see is good loot…and ever since the news about your father's passing came, they've been bolder ever since. It is my duty and an honour to escort you back to your home. You've been absent far too long."

Like a hardened soldier, Lord Hersy wasted no time into assembling his men into formation and set out to reach the Bloody Gate. They were riding at an extremely fast pace, anxious to pass through the Mountains. Looking over her shoulder, she looked onto the hillsides and could have sworn she saw movement behind the rocks shadows of the mountains.

She gulped, knowing that not a mere twenty feet away were armed mean, ready to attack their party if the opportunity arose.

"Try to keep up the pace, my Lady!" Lord Hersy yelled out. "If we slow down, they'll be running down these hills with their axes and swords!"

By the time they had passed through the mountains and arrived at the Bloody Gate, a former battlement that now served as the entrance leading to the Eyrie, the sun began disappearing below the mountains. The two twin watch towers stood on either-side of the rotating steel gate, a familiar site which made Isabel feel at home again.

They were greeted by the Knight of the Gate, who served as commander and the Vale's first line of defense of any incoming attack. The unmistakable red-greyish hair and the armour of the black fish caught Isabel's eyes, as Ser Bryden Tully and uncle to Lysa Arryn emerged from the gate. He was appointed to the position by her father when he married Lysa, as a gesture of good faith and generosity to her family.

"You made it back in record time, Hersy!" Ser Brynden Tully bellowed out.

Lord Hersy gave a huge grunt, "I had an important package to deliver, as you can see. Ladies should not wait."

Isabel jumped down from her horse and walked in front of Lord Hersy to meet the commander of the Bloody Gate. "Ser Bryden," she welcomed.

The knight, commonly called the Blackfish, gave a low bow to Isabel, and lightly pecked her hand. "It's been a long time since I've laid my eyes upon you my Lady. Look at that..you've all grown up!"

He called for his soldiers, and they immediately went to work and pulled the gate open, with the view of the Vale opening in front of Isabel's eyes. The mountains stretched into infinity, as the winding paths slithered in and out of the valleys and cracks of the rock, and the snow-capped mountains that disappeared into the clouds in the sky. From a distance, her eyes gazed up Giant's Lance, the mountain which her father's castle was built on, where the Eyrie was calling her home. It was a moment that she dreamt of since moving to King's Landing – and it was marvelous in her eyes.

"We'll reach the Gates of the Moon by dusk," Lord Hersy explained. "We won't be able to travel anymore after dark…it's too dangerous. Lord Nestor Royce has already been notified of your arrival, and he welcomes your return with open arms."

"Thank you, Lord Hersy…for all that you've done," she said in gratitude.

"We're all glad you've returned, my Lady. We've been waiting for you to set things right….there's been a lot of talk going around the Vale, and it's about time you've come home."

* * *

><p>Petyr Baelish walked through the streets of King's Landing, taking his daily stroll to and from his establishments as a way to clear his mind and to ponder his next moves.<p>

Everything was set into motion, and now all he had to do was to wait a little bit more. Soon, the chaos between lions and wolves would unfold; war would ensue, and King's Landing will fall into pieces. And it would be him, Petyr Baelish of The Fingers to come and save the day.

And the mighty hero will be greatly rewarded.

But he didn't want just _any reward._ Having been raised in a humble house with a small fortune, the dreams of land, power and wealth were also but a reach away from his grasp. He had felt a small taste of it in his youth when Lord Hoster Tully had agreed to foster him in the Riverlands, and now it would be his moment to shine.

No, he didn't want just any land, castle of title. He wanted the Vale and _all_ of its beauty – and that would only be the beginning.

He arrived at the gates of the Red Keep, ignoring the guards stationed there and momentarily giving a quick glance at the group of children huddled near the ground playing a game. He smirked to himself, recognizing the little birds that belonged to Lord Varys. King's Landing was a nasty place to live in – there were spies and dishonesty everywhere.

The ravens came that morning, announcing the King's arrival in a few days' time, as well as the arrival of the new Hand of the King.

Ned Stark. The name made his blood slightly boil, for he had stolen the object of his affection from his youth – his brother had won her hand, but after his death it was Ned that married Catelyn Tully, and took her away to the North forever.

She was the true love of his life, a far greater desire than any throne or kingdom that Westeros could bestow upon him. Nothing in this world could compare to the love her bore towards Catelyn Tully, and it made him hungry for desire knowing that she was the one thing he could not have.

"Lord Baelish," a voice broke out.

His smile remained on his face, as he greeted the shorter, bald man in front of him. Strange, he thought. Studying Lord Varys, Master of Whispers, could anybody ever guess that he was probably the most dangerous man in all the Seven Kingdoms. The man was a eunuch, held no lands and titles, and could not hold a sword if his life depended on it, and yet, he was one of the most powerful men in the realm.

"Seems like we'll be greeted with a new Hand very soon," Petyr chimed.

The spider squirmed and giggled like a girl. "Oh, I am most anxious to meet with Lord Stark again…a refreshing addition to our council. But, I am sad to learn that the Lady Isabel Arryn will be joining us at a later date. She has decided to return to the Eyrie…to continue her father's legacy, most likely. It's a shame, she was an asset to this council...such drive and ambition...I had many hopes for her."

Petyr did not dare to flinch, but a passing doubt went through his mind, as he did not anticipate her returning to the Vale so soon. _Does she know something?_

"I suppose she misses home and mourns for her father...a parent's loss is especially hard for someone so young," Lord Varys mused.

The glint behind the spider's eyes made Petyr suspicious of his intention, searching between the words of their intended meaning. Lord Varys, Master of Whispers was a man that Petyr distrusted the most – solely because Varys' motives and ambitions was something he could never figure out.

"She will be missed," Petyr echoed. "But I do apologize at my forwardness, but I think you know something about the true reason behind her return, and so you choose to stand in front of me and gloat me. That is simply, too teasing of you. Now you simply must tell me what you know."

The spider giggled again, as it he was flattered by his snide comment. "Lord Baelish, you honour me too much with such flattery," he commented.

He walked away, the smile now long gone and replaced with a sad frown. He knew Lord Varys was not a person for idle talk; everything he said had a purposeful intent. So what was he really up to?

Petyr secretly hoped that Lysa would not do anything rash with Isabel, knowing the unstable temper and emotions the woman tended to go through. She was now far away from him, and now more difficult to control. Yet, he remained in good faith, that Lysa Arryn would not give away anything to his plans, despite what little knowledge she had of them. He knew Lysa would do almost anything for him.

_Give me time,_ he said to himself. _The Vale will eventually be mine and I will steal it right from under your nose Isabel Arryn._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Just a speculation on Petyr Baelish's motives in the book/series!(A bit of a filler chapter, but I promise you it'll get more intense!)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

The doors opened into the High Hall, a room where her father and his descendants had ruled the Vale from since the Andals first landed in Westeros. In the centre was the infamous Moon Door, which would open up to a six hundred foot drop for those who were punished and condemned to execution. At the end of the hall, was the throne of House Arryn carved of weirwood and gazed down at its people. This was the room where her ancestors had ruled the Vale since they first landed in Westeros six thousand years ago.

She had longed to set her eyes upon this very room and the sight gave Isabel shivers down her spine. She made a step forward slowly, as she reached to touch the bare benches that surrounded the Moon Door, feelings its stone and carvings. It felt cold to the touch, but gave her a sudden rush of energy. She made her way to the ramp, and slowly caressed the pale blue stone railings, as it led her to the throne of her father's house.

She stood behind it, and grasped the edge, feeling the weirwood through her skin. Isabel looked out onto the empty room, but still basked in the glory. No, she dared not to sit in her father's place.

Not yet, at least. There was still work to be done, before she felt was worthy enough to call herself Lady of the Vale and Warden of the East.

"What are you doing?" a voice called out.

She looked up, and saw her ice blue eyes staring up at her. Isabel had not seen Lysa Arryn since her father fell ill, and she looked terrible. Her deep red hair, which was normally tied back was now tangled and sprawled across her chest as if she had not washed or combed it in days. Her skin, which was once lightly tanned from the southern sun, was now pale and hollow, as if she had not seen the sun or eaten in weeks. Her eyes, though they glared with such ferocity at Isabel, looked tired as if she had not slept in several days.

Lysa Arryn looked like a ghost.

"I've returned home," Isabel stated. She removed herself from the throne, and made her way back down so she would stand in front of her step-mother.

"You're not welcome here," she seethed,

"The Eyrie is my home, and the Vale, my land. I have every right to be here," Isabel replied.

The corners of Lysa's mouth began to quiver, struggling to retain her composure. "I know what you're trying to do here. Well, you won't have it! This place is Robert's birthright!"

Isabel remained calmed, remembering the words of her father. She looked at Lysa, whose composure began deteriorating and her true nature emerging. The paranoia was slowly reaching into her eyes, as the blue eyes which momentarily before look ferocious now looked lost and glassy. Her body, shaking and she clenched her fists in an effort to control herself.

"And what would you do if I said otherwise? What would you say if I told you my brother will never be Lord of the Vale?" she thought out loud, hoping to strike a nerve with her step-mother.

"You'll never inherit your father's titles!" she yelled out. "_Never!_ The lords of these lands will never follow you. No one in this realm would ever dream of helping you! Not after what you did!"

The words silenced Isabel, and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "It was _you_?" she asked. "_You_ sent the letter?"

Lysa said nothing, but her eyes gave the truth away. "Does your hatred of me run so deep that you resort to accusing me of murdering my own father?" she asked in disbelief.

"He's always loved you," she said hysterically. "He did everything for you…and what has he done for me? For his son? It was _me_ who gave him a son! An heir! And yet he still treats you as the son he never had, as if Robert never existed!"

"Was my father murdered?" Isabel asked slowly, ignoring the cries of a desperate woman.

The two women remained silent, but held each other's gaze as Isabel struggled to fight the tears that were forming around her eyes. "Answer me," she said louder, as her voice began to crack.

The older woman quivered, and made a noise as her strength slowly escaped from her body. "Answer me," she said forcibly again.

Lysa collapsed on the stone bench, and began sobbing, rocking herself back and forth in an effort to control herself. "They feared him…of what he knew..," she began muttering. "They poisoned him…they murdered him!"

Isabel gulped and remained silent, letting the information sink in. "W-who?"

"The lions….those Lannisters…they poisoned him," she wailed.

She collapsed next to her step-mother, and said nothing. She stared at her hands, which were now slightly shaking. She clenched her fists into a ball in an effort to control her emotions. _Lannisters?_ The questions spun through her head, as she tried in vain to search for a motive as to why they would murder her father.

"How can you be so sure?" she asked.

"Who else would it be? Jon grew too powerful for them…Petyr always warned me of them...he told me that they'd tried to remove him one day."

"Petyr?" she echoed. _What in the seven hells does this have to do with Petyr Baelish?_

"Petyr tried to warn him…tried to help him, but Jon turned him away. If _only_ he would have listened to him!" she cried out.

Isabel relaxed her hands and let out a few very deep breathes to clear her mind. She looked at her step-mother who was disheveled and worn, with tears pouring down her face as she continued to muttered nonsensical things. At that moment, Lysa Arryn's former beauty had escaped and left her a paranoid and tattered woman. At that moment, Isabel did not hate her step-mother – instead, she felt pity.

"What are we doing here?" she asked warily. "Why do we fight? You're tired…you need rest. And Robert needs his mother…go back to the Riverlands and live your life in peace, with your family. Raise your son, free from the politics and give him a chance at happiness."

For a moment, it looked like Lysa Arryn was about to consider Isabel's offer, but something in the woman snapped, and her venomous demeanor returned. "If you think you can rid of me that easily, then you must be a fool," she said.

"Your son will get hurt," Isabel tried to reason.

"Do not tell me how to raise my son!" she yelled. "The Vale will never be yours. _Never."_

"Is that your choice then, my Lady?" she asked in finality.

Lysa tightened her lips and stood her ground, a silent act of defiance and their futures sealed. Isabel smiled sadly at her. She had given them a choice; a way out, and a chance for her brother to live in peace with his mother. But instead, Lysa Arryn had chosen war.

* * *

><p>"<em>I've brought you something," the boy said. His hands were cupped together, and he held them in front of her face, waiting to unveil its hidden contents.<em>

_Isabel scrunched her face, unsure whether this was another one of Robb's pranks. This was her third visit to Winterfell, and the twelve year old girl had slowly grown accustomed to the fact that every time Robb Stark wanted to give her something, it was almost always an insect that ended up in her hair._

"_If it's another bug of yours, I don't want it," she said._

"_Oh come on!" he said lightly. "I promise it's not a bug…and I promise I won't throw it at you."_

_He pushed his hands towards her, silently begging her to accept his childish token. Reluctantly, Isabel took his hand and removed it; readying herself to run away at any given notice should an insect be flying in her direction._

_A small chirp emerged between Robb's fingers, as he presented a baby bird that had blue and white feathers, with a small yellow beak. Its eyes blinked slowly and its chirps grew louder as it tried to grasps its surrounding._

"_Where did you get it?" Isabel asked, as she brought her finger to its head trying to pet the creature. The bird nipped her finger in affection, surprising the girl and she slightly jumped in reaction._

"_Jon and I found it in the woods. Its nest had fallen from the wind...poor thing," he explained._

"_Well, what do we do with it? It can't survive much longer without its mother," she asked._

_Robb shrugged his shoulders, unsure of a solution. "It's a present for you," he said._

"_Well, what am I going to do with it? I can't bring it back to King's Landing with me…it won't survive the journey" she said._

_A sudden idea popped in the young boy's head. "We'll give it to Maester Luwen! He'll raise it, and then he can train it to be a messenger bird…between here and King's Landing! That way, we'll have our own bird for our use!" _

_He had a huge grin on his face, suddenly feeling proud of himself at the ingenious solution. Isabel would often make fun of him for never using his brain enough, but his smile quickly faded when she started laughing at him._

"_What?" he asked._

"_Why would we need a messenger bird for ourselves?"_

"_So I can write to you! Father says it's important that we write to each other because I'm here and you're there. That way, we won't feel like strangers the next time you visit."_

"_Who ever said I'd actually end up marrying you?" she mocked. "Mother says that betrothals get broken all the time!"_

_Robb remained silent, feeling hurt at her words. He looked at the bird still cupped in his hands, which had now fallen asleep. When he found the creature, he had immediately thought of Isabel, as it reminded him of her sigil. He thought it would make a fine present for her, thinking it would make her smile – something he noticed he liked doing recently._

_Sensing the hurt in Robb's face, she quickly apologized. "I was only joking, Robb! We'll give the bird to Maester Luwen…but you have to promise me that'll you write everyday. King's Landing gets too boring sometimes and I'll need lots of letters to occupy my time."_

_The boyish smile returned to the northern boy's face. "Everyday."_

* * *

><p>The voices of the lords of the Vale spoke over one another in the hall of Lord Nestor Royce, filling the room with inaudible speeches, shouts and grunts. Word had spread amongst the houses that Lady Isabel had returned, and many were eager to meet with her.<p>

She recognized many of the sigils that the lords had displayed proudly on their cloaks and armour. Lord Hersy, House Hersy of Newskeep, sat to her left, was in deep conversation with the eldest son of Lord Benedar Belmore. Across from them was Lord Nestor Royce, of House Royce of the Gates of the Moon, one of the principal houses in the Vale, and one of her father's most trusted and loyal friends. Lord Nestor Royce had served as steward for her father, and had been ruling the Vale in his name – an act of loyalty that her father would constantly remind Isabel to never forget.

Near the end of the table were lords and knights from House Donniger, House Royce of Runestone, House Redfort and House Wydman.

"My Lords," she called out, slowly silencing them as the voices died down. "I cannot thank you enough for meeting with me tonight."

"I believe it is the other way around, my Lady," replied Lord Nestor Royce. "It is an honour to be in your presence. You look just like your mother...and yet I see so much of your father in you."

The other lords murmured in agreement. "These are only but a few houses that once pledged allegiance and loyalty to your father…and now pledge loyalty to you, my Lady," he continued, "I've been steward of the Vale since your father was named Hand of the King, and now our young Lord Robert rules us, with his mother as Regent. But I know all too well the hardships and challenges what a lord must endure to retain the happiness of his people. Lord Robert Arryn is simply unfit to rule, and so we look to you my Lady."

"The Lady Arryn spends her time locked up in her chambers, and fails to properly tutor her son in ruling the realm. The mountain clans grow bolder, threatening our trade routes, while she chooses to increase the taxes on our people. She cares not for the Vale," added Lord Hersy.

They fell to silence and looked to Isabel, who was seated in the middle of the long table and had yet to say anything thus far. They now waited for her judgment, and treated her as of their equals. It was a moment that she had prepared for since she was a little girl. "Are you all in agreement, my lords?" she asked cautiously.

The lords murmured in consent, with some nodding their heads and others pledging their loyalty. "There are those absent here today who are too afraid to speak out against Lysa Arryn, and there are those absent who oppose you my Lady. But I assure you, we greatly outnumber them," replied Lord Egen.

Isabel knew House Egen well, as his eldest son, Ser Vardis was captain of her father's household guard in King's Landing. Since her father's passing, Ser Vardis had chosen to remain in King's landing to serve Isabel's household. Scanning the room, she did in fact realize that the lords from House Hardyng, Grafton and Coldwater were missing.

"I know this is hard for you my lords," she began, "to be forced to pledge allegiance between two Arryn children, for you all served my father with unquestionable loyalty. And you would not be in this room tonight, if you did not show concern in the future of our lands and our people. I love my brother…he is my father's son, and is of my blood. I do not wish him any harm, but I cannot let him rule nor his mother…even if it means war."

The room remained silent; as each house member let her words slowly sink into their conscience. "I ask you to look into your hearts and conscience and ask in great humility to support my claim to my father's titles. I ask you tonight my lords, to renounce my brother, the Lord Robert Arryn of his claim to the throne."

"The Lady Arryn will not relinquish those rights so easily," a voice piped in. "How do you suppose to get her to agree?"

"Though I do not wish for your brother to rule, I do not wish to start a war between our houses," said another.

"I do not wish for war either, my lords," she replied, "war is unpredictable, its outcomes uncertain. But my step-mother has left me no choice…I cannot sit here and let her rule."

"War will mean fighting with the Tullys, the Freys, perhaps even the Starks since her sister is Lady of Winterfell. It will mean attacking the Eyrie, a most difficult feat."

She closed her eyes, having already known the predicament. Her thoughts went back to Cersei Lannister and her offer of an alliance. It was a viable solution – money, men and supplies would be at her disposal. But at what price?

_I will not marry a Lannister,_ she told herself.

"I will seek support from King Robert," she said. "A king's dispensation will have Robert's rights relinquished...the simplest solution. I will return to King's Landing and seek an audience with him. If that fails, the burden to fight Lysa Arryn will be on me…all I ask is for your loyalty when the time is right."

She held her breathe for a moment, unsure if the lords would disagree and simply walk out of the room. Lord Nestor Royce gave her a hard and cold stare, as if he was assessing her strength and searching for weakness.

She clenched her jaw in nervousness and stared right back at him, refusing to blink or look away. _I am my father's daughter,_ she told herself. _I am not afraid of anything._

"I twice rode along side your father into war…and I will be honoured to ride into war once more with his daughter. You have my allegiance, my Lady," declared Lord Nestor Royce.

It didn't take long for the other sworn houses to follow and the victorious cries and shouts declaring Isabel, Lady of the Vale soon engulfed the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

_She ran down the halls and up the stairs, eager to give the wooden box in her hands to her father. Today was his names-day, and although he hated making a big deal out of it, Isabel had always found a way to celebrate with him, privately away from the king's tourney and feast that King Robert would hold in his honour._

_She found him, sitting in his room behind his desk, reading a rather large old and dusty book. He was so absorbed by its contents, that he had failed to notice her walking into his quarters and taking a seat in front of him._

"_Father!" she cried out._

_He jumped at the noise, and shut the book closed. He smiled at his daughter, but Isabel could see the tiredness behind his eyes. "When's the last time you've had a proper night's sleep, father?" she asked._

"_The king makes sure I keep myself busy," he answered._

_She gazed down at his desk, and struggled to read the title of the leather bound book upside down. "Is the king making you re-learn the history of all the great houses as well?" she inquired._

_Ignoring her comment, he put the book away, and went over to his daughter and placed an affectionate kiss on her brow. "This is for you father," she said as she handed him the intricately carved wooden box._

"_What's the special occasion?"_

"_Have you forgotten what day it is today? Your own names-day?" she joked, "Can you not hear the knights and shouts from King's Landing who joust in your name today?"_

_They both shared a laugh, as she watched him lift the lock and opened its top to reveal an amulet, made of dragonglass and gold, adorned with small red, purple and blue gems._

"_Dragonglass," he said in awe. "Isabel, you shouldn't have…this must have cost you a small fortune."_

"_Anything for my dear father," she said affectionately. "It's not everyday you can celebrate your names-day. Besides…I got a good price on it."_

_Jon Arryn kissed her forehead and engulfed his daughter in a hug. "I worry for you sometimes," she said. "You've looked so troubled lately, more than usual. I hoped this gift will ease your mind…and keep you safe. William told me this was said to be blessed by the priests of R'hllor….to ward off the shadows of our world."_

_He laughed at her, "I am sorry that I worry you Isabel…it is not my intention."_

"_What troubles you?" she asked in seriousness, "You know you can tell me."_

_Jon Arryn sighed, unsure of what to tell his daughter to keep her mind at ease. He trusted her with everything, wanted to tell her everything he knew, but he also desired to protect her from certain truths. _

"_I know you wish to share my burden Isabel…but there are some things that are not your battle," he said earnestly._

"_I don't need you protecting me anymore," she protested. "I know what goes on around here… I know the danger. You were the one who taught me on how to survive here…and you promised me we'd stick through this together. You and me, remember?"_

"_One day, I won't be there to protect you," he said sadly. "I will leave this world, and leave you alone. So…indulge me while I still live, and let me dote upon a daughter like a loving father should."_

_He could see the worry on her face and it saddened him that he could not tell her of the dark secret he had discovered about the Lannisters. But he needed to protect her, as he felt his time was now ending._

"_I wish your mother could you see," he mused. "She'd be so proud of you…I am proud of you."_

_Her smile did not leave her face and she crept up to place two affectionate kisses on both of his cheeks. "I am my father's daughter," she whispered fondly in his ear, "I am not afraid of anything."_

* * *

><p>The Valyrian blade sat on Ned Stark's desk, calling to him as if it had some life of its own. His reluctant acceptance at being the new Hand of the King was only to investigate at the accusations of Jon Arryn's murder. But now he had just learned that someone had sent an assassin to murder his son, Bran with the very same blade that was now placed on his desk.<p>

_Who would murder an innocent child?_

He could not think that the two seemingly unrelated events were connected to each other, and the one common factor was the Lannisters. The worrisome words that his living wife brought from Winterfell had haunted his mind, body and soul.

Did Bran see something? Did Jon Arryn discover the same secret that it was worthy of murder?

This was indeed a dangerous place that they've come to. He feared for his daughters, worried that they may not have the strength to repel the evils that lurked in the shadows. He feared for his family, and he feared for the king's safety.

_Winter is coming._

In a place as dangerous as King's Landing, who could he trust? Lord Petyr Baelish had offered his help in solving this mystery, but Ned Stark was wary of his intentions. He wondered if Isabel Arryn knew of these allegations, and had hoped to confide in her, but she was presently absent at the time. No, this was a task he'd have to seek out for himself.

His eyes fell upon the blade once more. It was a beautiful forged dagger, adorned with dragonstone with blue and red jewels, had it not been used for such a malicious intent. He touched its hilt in vain, hoping it would tell him who its true owner was.

But the room remained silent, refusing Ned Stark the answers he was looking for.

* * *

><p>The ports of Gulltown lively sea town, the fourth largest city in the realm, which sat next to the Bay of Crabs. Though not as busy as Blackwater Bay in King's Landing, there were many ships, from the north as well as from the east that would dock here. Small row houses hoisted on logs were scattered across the shoreline, as the high waves would crash into the cliffs and rocks below.<p>

She had come to the Vale to seek out her friends, and now it was time to return to King's Landing. Still, there was a troublesome worry at the back of her mind that something was still unsettled. The mystery behind her father's death still plagued her as she grew more and more suspicious at Lysa's story. It also bothered her that she had mentioned Petyr Baelish's name on more than one occasion.

"You look worried," claimed Ser Tommas.

"I have every right to be worried Ser Tommas…my future now hangs on the words of a very fat king, The lords have faith in me now, but will they still support me when it the time comes?"

He chuckled at her. "Ease your mind, my Lady. The lords of the Vale have spoken…you have their support. King Robert cannot ignore that. He will issue the dispensation…everything will be set right...you'll see."

"Perhaps I do not share your hope Ser Tommas," she replied, "fighting for my inheritance is one battle…keeping my enemies at bay, that is another battle that has yet to come. Must I fight my enemies my entire life? Will I ever achieve the peace that my father dreamt of?"

She appreciated Ser Tommas' optimism, yet she could not share his hopefulness. It was as if she could feel a dark evil lingering in the air, waiting for the opportunity to strike. "When we return to King's Landing, I'd like you to keep an eye on Petyr Baelish," she instructed.

"A closer eye than usual?" he inquired.

"Yes…he's up to something, and I'd like to know what it is," she replied.

"Consider it done…though may I ask why my Lady?" Ser Tommas asked.

"A precaution, that's all," she stated, not wishing to give away her true reason. She trusted Ser Tommas with her life, but still, there were things where she simply kept to herself. In her mind, it was better that way and kept those she cared about safe from danger.

A cry in the sky caused the lady and knight to look up to see a blue and white falcon soar high above the sky. "You see my lady?" he pointed out, "Even the birds call out to you as their Lady. A good omen, I would say."

The bird circled twice above the shoreline, before swooping down and landing on a wooden post near the pair. Isabel stared at it carefully, as it perched on the post, waiting for the string around its legs to untie and its message deliver.

She walked over to it, and affectionately petted its neck as she took the letter off its legs. She glanced at the folded paper, recognizing the writing but did not dare to open it and read its contents. She hid her smile in her cloak, knowing the letter's author and promised herself to read it when she was alone.

"Do you know the creature?" Ser Tommas asked.

The image of the baby bird in his hands appeared in her mind, as she followed its form that that took off into the air and flew away into distance until it was a speck in the blue sky. "Yes," she replied, "You can say that he's an old friend of mine."

* * *

><p><em>She touched the face that was said to have been that of the Children of the Forests. Its curves and bumps of the bark sent shivers down Isabel's spine. Bran's accident darkened the mood at Winterfell, and strangely enough she had found herself in the godswoods, praying to the Old Faith for his health. The Seven were her gods, but the Starks were believers of the Old Faith, so she thought it'd be appropriate for the godswoods to here her prayers.<em>

"_Protect him," she whispered._

_A rustle of leaves and a snap of a branch made her turn around. He stood there, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, and walked up to her and placed a light kiss on her forehead, which sent a warmness throughout her body – a welcome feeling against the cold crisp air. "I did not think you prayed to the Old Faith," he said._

"_I don't…but I doubt the seven can hear me up here. Besides, I pray for Bran, not for myself."_

_She took a seat on the bench, and motioned him to follow suit. He sat down beside her, and she took his hand and intertwined their fingers. "I wish you didn't have to leave," he whispered, "Makes it all seem like a dream."_

"_You know I can't stay," she replied._

_Robb started tracing circles on the back of her hand and brought his lips down and pecked it – a gesture that he liked doing because it always brought a smile to Isabel's face. "I want you to know…whatever happens, I will wait for you Isabel," he confessed._

_She struggled to hide her smile, as the flush of pink appeared on her cheeks. "Then you will wait a very long time, my Lord," she said, "for I do not intend to marry until I know that my father's lands are in capable hands."_

"_I have waited my whole life," he jested, "I can continue to wait."_

"_You speak as if you were in love your entire life," she mused._

"_I gave my heart to you a very long time ago and you...broke it, when you broke our engagement."_

"_Robb…" she began, unsure of what to say, "I told you of my reasons."_

"_I know."_

"_And where is your heart now?" she wondered out loud._

"_Well," he began as he placed his hand on her chin to turn her head so they faced each other. "I have not demanded it back…so I suppose it still belongs to its original owner."_

"_And what do you suppose its owner do with it? Keep it? Return it? Toss it to the sea?" she jested._

"_I hope that she keeps it and cherishes it…I hope that she loves it, for it is the most fragile and delicate gift, for a man to give away."_

_She closed the distance between them, until their noises were touching. She could feel his warm breathe on her skin, a warmth sensation that she found herself enjoying. "You put too much trust in me, Robb Stark."_

_He placed a kiss on her forehead, and then moved down to kiss her nose, and then lastly a light and soft kiss on her pinks lips. "Then call me a fool, blinded by love," he whispered._

_Isabel knew what he was asking, what he wanted them to become, but in truth she could not give him her declaration in return. There was no future for them, she thought. She cast her eyes down leaned forward to their foreheads were now touching. "I cannot give you what you seek," she sadly said, "for I cannot promise a future that is still unknown to me."_

"_Then I will not ask you to look into the future…I will ask you for these stolen moments...moments like this, neither of the past, nor of the future, but hidden away in the present. Only the gods may know what tomorrow brings, so I only ask you to live as if it were your last day."_

"_You ask too much of me," she protested, "The future is all I think about nowadays."_

_Suddenly feeling frustrated that Robb was no longer listening, she abruptly got up and started walking away. Her heart yelled up to her, demanding that she turn around, but her mind said otherwise._

_Was this the ultimate sacrifice?_

_She paused and turned her head around and gave a sad smile to him. "If things were different…if it had been a different life, I would have loved you unconditionally…I would have given you my heart."_

_Isabel didn't realize the tears that had formed in the corners of her eye as she left the godswood, and back to her reality where her future was calling out to her._

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Sorry, this one's a bit of a filler chapter and I do apologize for making it a bit shorter than usual, but enjoy nonetheless!_**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

Seeking an audience with the king was not a difficult task. With a new Hand to run his kingdom, King Robert was in a joyful mood – something King's Landing had not seen in quite awhile. She had arrived in King's Landing two days earlier, feeling eager, restless and, nervous. She was tired, for sleep did not welcome her during the nights, and her worries would often plague her mind during the day.

It would only be until the King's verdict which would put her mind at ease.

She stood in the throne room, amongst the other nobles, knights and courtiers would were there for the same reason – to seek the King and ask for his favour and support. She had often seen King Robert turn away even the simplest request, seen him fly into a fit of rage and seen him offer his support – it all depended on his mood.

He came strolling in with a sweat on his brow near high noon and sat on the Iron Throne, rather impatiently. He stared out into the hall, his stare penetrating to those that gathered to seek his audience and roaring to his servant to fetch him a cup of strong wine.

Isabel waited patiently, but could not help control the constant fidgeting in her hands. She clasped them together in a failed effort to calm herself, only leading to her nails digging into her skin in anticipation.

"So who's first?" he roared out, startling her.

One by one, commoners, nobles and knights spoke out for their various causes, hoping to seek favour from King Robert. Most of them were rejected, while others were publicly insulted by the king, and only a handful were granted their wishes. As the hours went out, and the hall diminished in size, she took a deep breathe, and stepped in front of the remaining audience.

"Your Grace," she called out, as she unconsciously straightened her posture and held her chin up high.

An amused glint appeared in the King's eyes, as he took another large gulp from his cup. "Isabel Arryn, daughter of one of my most loyal and trusted friend, Jon Arryn" he called out, "What business do you have with your King?"

She hesitated for a moment, suddenly incapable of speaking. She began to doubt herself, slowly losing confidence in her ability to voice her cause.

_Never cower in the face of the shadows,_ a voice reassured. _I am right here, with you always. Remember? You and me._

She gulped in silence, and pushed all her fears away. "I've come here in need of your blessing and support, your Grace," she began slowly. "With my father gone, the responsibility of the Eyrie and the Vale has now fallen on the shoulders of my brother, Robert Arryn…a mere child with no knowledge of this world, nor the strength to fight it. The Lady Lysa Arryn, my father's wife now rules as regent in his name."

The King gave a loud grunt. "What does this have to do with me?"

"I have just returned from the Vale, and the lords of my father's sworn houses have seen fit to declare my brother unfit to rule as Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East. They have no faith in the Lady Lysa Arryn's judgment, and they fear she will bring them to ruin. Instead, they have pledged support to me to rule in his stead….and now I ask you with great humility to ask for your support as well. A King's dispensation would avoid all necessary conflict."

King Robert looked at her as if she was the most foolish person in the room. His glare made her feel insignificant and like a young girl being scolded. "A woman who wants to rule," he mused. "You should speak to my wife, the queen…something you two have in common."

Isabel pursed her lips, but remained silent and patiently waited for the king's judgment. She stole a glance to the King's right, and caught Jamie Lannister smirking at her, as if he was mocking her.

"Tell me, why should I take away your brother's birthright?"

"For my father," she stated quietly, "it was his one wish, his dream, as well as my mother's…to have me rule."

"And what makes you think you can rule the Vale? What makes you think you can call your father's houses and ride into battle when the King commands it?"

"With all due respect your Grace, I have done battle every day of my life since living in this city. I may not have battled with steel, but I have battled and fought with words…and in my experience, words are often more dangerous than steel."

"Spoken like a true politician," he commented, "I see you've taken some cues from my Master of Coin."

A tense silence engulfed the room, as the king sat on his Iron Throne pondering his decision. Isabel bit the inside of her cheek to rid herself of the nerves which were creeping into her body until she was sure she had drawn blood.

The King shifted in his seat, and once away called for his cup to be refilled. She saw Lancel Lannister, the Queen's cousin run from his spot and quickly poured the King another glass before stumbling back into his place.

"Your father has raised you well…I see no fear in your eyes," he observed. "I loved your father…he was a loyal friend here, and he ruled my lands well. But relinquishing your brother's rights is something…I cannot do."

She thought she had heard wrong and she stood frozen in her spot, "Your Grace…I..I don't understand."

"You stand here asking me for a dispensation. Well, tomorrow, I may see the Frey's in that same spot you stand at asking me to declare their father unfit to rule…and before you know, the entire realm will be at my feet declaring their lords unfit to rule!"

"And…that is your decision then?" she said, forcing herself to swallow her disappointment.

"It is," he commanded. "I know you mean well Isabel, and I would have done anything else for you had you asked it…for the sake of your father. But this is something I will not do."

She didn't know how long she stood there for, but by the time Ser Tommas shook her shoulders to snap her out of shock, the King and his kings guard had disappeared, as well as almost all of the King's court. Isabel looked up at Ser Tommas, who could only offer her sympathy and a leaning shoulder to cry out. She could feel the tears forming, but mentally told herself that crying was useless now.

"I didn't realize that my dreams could be shattered like that," she said quietly. "What am I to do Ser Tommas?"

"We'll find another way, my Lady," he said softly.

They exited the great hall, and Isabel fell into a slow and dazed walk, ignoring her surroundings and the people who would give her curious glances as they passed by. She found herself in the courtyard, and gave leave to Ser Tommas, wanting to be alone for the time. Sitting on the bench underneath the great weirwood tree in the godswood, she closed her eyes and let herself relax.

It was strange that the sacred tree of the Old Faith could give her a sense of serenity. She remembered that Winterfell had one, and Robb would often take her there in their youth. The godswood in Winterfell was bigger in size in comparison to the small enclosure here at the Red Keep, while the Eyrie barely had a godswood at all. The one at the castle was barely used at all since the Faith of the Seven was the dominant belief, leaving Isabel alone in her much needed solitude.

"I have just heard the news," a voice from behind spoke out.

"Word travels quickly," she commented.

The Master of Whispers giggled and took a seat beside her. "Strange that some men still believe these trees still hold some kind of ancient magic," he mused.

"What do you want, Lord Varys?" she asked warily.

"Your cause it not dead yet," he suggested. "There are other ways of reclaiming your father's lands."

"War," she stated. "Without the king's support, I will subject my people to war. Bloodshed is something I did not want."

"Attacking the Eyrie is a most difficult task," he pondered, "You will need men, resources, money, and in the end you may not even succeed."

"Thank you my Lord, for stating the obvious," she sarcastically replied.

"Although, you may have a few options…seeking help from your friends, is a start," he suggested.

"The Lannister? Tyrell? " she asked. "They are not my friends."

"Perhaps then, you should look to the east."

She turned to look at him. She knew he had many friends and contacts across the Narrow Sea, and she knew Targaryen children were being housed at the Magister's estate, for she had served for many years as the messenger between the two men. What she did not know, however, was the nature of their business – something she refused to get herself involved with.

"What do you want," she asked suspiciously.

"Your support, when the time is right," he said cryptically, "and in return, you will get all that you ever desired."

"You forget, it was my father who raised his banners first," she stated.

"Sometimes, enemies can be forged together in times of need…pasts can be forgotten and forgiven, if the end reward is great enough."

"And how does a friendship such as this become certain? What must I give as a sign of loyalty and trust?"

He said nothing, but she already knew the answer. "Marriage," she coldly stated.

"You will get all that you ever wanted, and then some," he said. "Imagine…all the Seven Kingdoms under your rule…as Queen."

"Those are treasonous words you speak," she said cautiously, "you speak to me too boldly sir."

"And yet you do not call the guards to have me arrested," he calmly stated, "you wouldn't have stayed and listened if you didn't think otherwise."

"You are not the first to have suggested such a friendship," she said recalling on the Queen's offer of an alliance.

"Ah…so the Lannisters have already planted their seed. A powerful house to support your cause, but at what price? Surely you know they seek to undermine you and take the Vale for themselves. You are not a foolish woman, Isabel…I think you know what the right decision is. That is…if this is what your _truly _want."

She looked at her hands, and strangely enough pictured the baby bird in her hands bringing her memories back to Robb Stark. She told him she would never marry for political advancement - she told him she would only marry for love.

And now…her heart was torn in two.

"My heart is not mine to give," she said in barely a whisper to herself.

But Lord Varys was quick to catch her words and he giggled at her sentiment. "Young love…a tempting factor to just forget about everything else you fight for. A Stark alliance would be advantageous…but their strict code of honour would have them support your brother instead."

His words spoke the truth. House Stark were Northern men and followers of the Old Faith and free from all the political intrigue and corruption. They upheld honour above all things – and they would see Robert as the rightful because he was Jon Arryn's firstborn son.

Her hands felt tied, as she tried to come with another solution – one where she could have both worlds. "Why me?" she asked. "You could have asked anybody…what makes you think I can convince my father's bannermen?"

"You are far more powerful than you think, Isabel Arryn. You will have suitors at your feet, not because of love or adoration but because they seek to win your support. You control one of the noblest and powerful armies in the realm, your bloodline is one of the purest in the realm, and your father was one of the most respected men in all the Seven Kingdoms."

"So is that it then? I am just a pawn, in your game?"

"You have much to learn, my dear…that sometimes, you cannot win the game of thrones alone."

* * *

><p>It felt strange standing in the room that her father once occupied in the Red Keep. She could almost remember the books and papers that were on his desk and his chest and wardrobe filled with his robes and cloaks. Now all of that was gone, and had seen been replaced with Ned Stark's belongings.<p>

"I hope you're settling here well," she told him.

He gave her a sad smile, showing his displeasure of the Southern court. When she had arrived back in King's Landing a couple of days earlier, she was quickly told by the servants through their gossip in her household about the events that had unfolded after she had parted from them on King's Road. The direwolves had been killed, when Prince Joffrey was allegedly attacked by one of the creatures, which now resulted in the growing tension between the Starks and the Lannisters.

"I had forgotten how harsh this environment can be," he told her truthfully. "I've not been in the south for a very long time."

"You get used to it," she said, "you learn quickly who your enemies are, as well as your friends."

"I have heard that you sought an audience with the King," he stated, "I am sorry his decision unsettled you."

The smile she gave Ned Stark did not reach her eyes. "I'm sure it doesn't surprise you, my Lord. You must think I'm some kind of usurper…taking away my brother's rights."

Ned Stark gently patted her on the back as a way to comfort her. "I know you are disappointed, but your brother _is_ the firstborn son of your father. You may doubt his ability to rule, but he is still young. He has much to learn and see before his time comes. And you, Isabel can help him be the good lord that would make your father proud. Use your strength and knowledge to guide him, not hinder him."

She knew he was trying to reason with her, to give her some peaceful solution to her conflict. But a compromise was not what she desired. The words of Lord Varys were burned into her mind, and the rising temptation of his offer became more and more desirable.

"You are a man of honour my Lord, a rare trait in most men I meet in this court," she said.

He chuckled, and walked back to his desk and sat down as he proceeded to sift through some scrolls and documents. The images of her father in that very chair doing the same tasks brought a warm smile to her face, as she remembered the moments when she'd run into his room and jump up on his lap, disrupting whatever work Jon Arryn was doing.

A glint at the corner of her eye caught her attention, as the sun was reflected on an object which was hidden underneath a scroll of papers on Ned's desk. The hilt was slightly sticking out in plain view, and Isabel noticed the beautiful carvings of dragonbone, and the jewels that were adorned on it.

He caught her staring at, and quickly moved it from sight. "That's a pretty blade," she observed. "Dragonbone…a rare find, if I do say so myself. Was it a gift?"

"Surely, you must have heard through the gossip around here," he hesitantly began, "that someone had tried to kill my son after we had left Winterfell…that someone tried to murder my child?"

She nodded and remained silent. "This dagger was used by the assassin," he stated.

Her hand went to its hilt and she pulled it out of its hiding place. The steel felt heavy to the touch, a pleasant surprise since Valyrian steel was known for its lightness. The jewels reflected fiercely in the sun, and the colours shone brightly, illuminating the room with its reflections.

"Lord Baelish claimed he had lost it in a bet to Tyrion Lannister," he said.

"Petyr?" she asked in surprised. _His name seems to be a popular discussion nowadays._

"Yes, Lord Baelish has offered me to help track down this assassin," he replied.

She looked at Ned Stark suspiciously, and suddenly wondered why a man so devoted to his family would travel so far south to become the new Hand of the King. Why would a man so naïve of the political workings of King's Landing would risk his family's happiness?

"Why...are you really here?" she asked,

Ned Stark removed the dagger from Isabel's hands and placed it back in its hiding place. He turned around and looked out the window and let out a huge breathe. "I don't believe that your father's death was an accident," he suggested.

"What have you heard?"

"Your step-mother gave me reason to believe that Jon was murdered because he knew something…something so dark that the Lannisters had him poisoned. I believe Bran discovered the same secret, and was pushed off that tower," he said quietly.

"Those are dangerous words you speak, my Lord. I did not think anyone else knew of this secret," she said cautiously.

"You too, have also come to think your father was murdered?"

"I didn't want to believe it my Lord," she told him truthfully, "but seeing the Lady Arryn's reaction when I inquired about it…she had fear in her eyes."

Isabel was careful not to mention the letter her step-mother had sent during her visit in Winterfell – a desperate attempt by Lysa Arryn to scare off Isabel. She secretly hoped that it was be a forgotten memory, and no one would ever mention those dark allegations ever again.

"I must caution you, Lord Stark…Petyr Baelish is not the most trusting person in this city," she said truthfully.

"Is anybody in the city worthy of the word?" he asked.

She gave him a grim smile. "No, I don't suppose there is."

"I am wary of his nature too, but I must admit…he has been most helpful as of late."

Her suspicions of Petyr Baelish grew increasingly by the moment, and she made a mental note to herself that she would find out what he was up to. It was far too a coincidence that he had somehow meddled his way into everything.

"Did your father…say anything to you before he died? Did he act strangely?" Ned inquired.

Isabel thought for some moment, trying to recall the last few weeks when her father was still alive. "He was more paranoid than usual I suppose…I noticed he wasn't getting much sleep. I thought it was because the kingdom was about to fall apart. I noticed he grew weary at everybody…became more distrusting."

"Did he say anything before he died?"

"It was hard...watching him slip away from this realm. He called for my mother…called for his father…but I remember he kept saying…'the seed is strong', over and over again until Maester Pycelle gave him the milk of poppy to ease the pain."

"Maester Pycelle? Was not Maester Coleman treating your father?"

"Well, he was…but the Grand Maester claimed his treatments were not working. My brother had another seizure around then, so Maester Pycelle offered to looked after my father while Maester Coleman attended to my brother."

Ned Stark did not respond, and pursed his lips in concentration, letting the information sink in. Isabel had not noticed the changes in her father's behaviour prior to him falling ill, and she now regretted not recognizing the danger her father was in.

"I wish I knew," she whispered, "Had I known…I would have helped him…I would have taken the burden off from him. But he liked to keep things from me; he always said he was protecting me. Why didn't he let me protect him, for once?"

"It's a father's job to protect their children from the dangers in this world, even if it means sacrificing their own life. Isabel, it's not your fault. Do not blame yourself for something you could not have foreseen. I will get to the bottom of this. I promise you, I will find your father's murderer and bring him to justice."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ahhaa...the plot thickens!**

**What is Varys up to? Will Isabel have proper vengeance against Jon Arryn's murder? What choices will she have to face when war breaks out? Will Robb and Isabel be able to hold on to each other, or will their quest for revenge and power consume one another?**

**Dear readers, you just have to wait and see :) :) xoxo**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

The sun was beating down on the dirt and sands of King's Landing, as it reached its highest position in the sky. At high noon, the streets of the city were bustling with all kinds of people. Isabel had just left the ports of Blackwater Bay, with a cart of brightly coloured silks and jeweled trinkets she had purchased from William. But instead of heading towards her trades posts as per her usual routine, she decided to take a detour, and personally pay a visit to Petyr Baelish's whorehouse.

It wasn't the most respectable place to be in, as the women gave her strange looks and the men would stare up and down her body as if she was a piece of fresh meat. But Isabel held her head up high, and refused to cast a single glance at her onlookers – and she was also comforted by the fact that Ser Tommas as well as some members of her household were there for added protection.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go in with you?" ask Ser Tommas, "This isn't the most reputable establishment to be seen at, especially for a highborn lady like yourself."

She gave him an amused look, as her knight could not look straight into her eyes, but instead diverted his stare towards the ground. "I'm sure I'll be okay, Ser Tommas. Besides, I'm more worried about you."

"Me?"

"So much temptation around you," she jested. "I'll be a few moments…try to keep yourself out of trouble."

She proceeded to walk through the beaded curtains, and the drapes of silk and cloth that hung from the walls and ceilings, while the smoke from the burning incense made Isabel cough from the strong musky scents. The shadows of women appeared behind the curtains, as they looked lustfully at Isabel. Wearing barely anything except a thin chemise, Isabel found herself slightly blushing at their indiscretion.

An older woman suddenly appeared which Isabel assumed ran the brothel. Her hair was bright orange, an unnatural colour which made her think it was a wig, while her eyes were lined with dark kohl make-up. "Can I help you, dear?"

"Where is your master?" she asked, "Lord Baelish."

"I didn't know he was…expecting company," she lewdly suggested.

"He's not…and this is visit strictly business," she replied.

"Sweet darling, it's all business here," the older woman mocked.

The woman led Isabel further down the hall, until they reached a rather large room that was draped in curtains, pillows and fabrics. In the middle of the room was Petyr, sitting at his desk while he was writing a letter.

Without looking up, he said, "What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure of your enchanting company?"

Isabel turned to the older woman, who was waiting by the door. Isabel gave her a stern look – a silent demand to leave them in privacy. The women hesitantly left, after stealing a glance from Petyr to ask for his leave.

"A new shipment arrived," she began, "It's all waiting outside for you…I think you'll find this month's goods to your satisfactory."

He put down his quill, folded the parchment and sealed it, before rising up from his chair and looked at her. "You didn't have to go all this way…you know I could have sent someone."

"Oh but I wanted to," she stated, "I've not seen you for so long…I simply had to make sure you were still alive."

He gave her a sly smile. "You tease me, Isabel….how much do I owe you this time?"

"A hundred gold dragons."

"I do sometimes wonder if you are trying to cheat me out of my money," he joked.

"And rob myself from one of my best paying customers? I would never think of offering you an unprofitable deal. I would have asked for double if I didn't like you."

He walked to his wardrobe, where he spent a few moments counting and weighing the coins before he dropped it in a red velvet pouch and handed her the money. "And how was your trip home?" he asked, changing the subject, "I heard about the king's decision…such a shame."

"A tiny bump in the road…I don't give up that easily."

"I'm sure the Lady Arryn didn't take your plans very well," he mused.

"She took it as well as I expected it…she didn't throw me out the Moon Door and I consider that a blessing," she thought out loud, "And Lord Ned Stark, I presume he is adjusting well to the council?"

"A good man...an honourable man, but he has so much to learn."

"Well, he has only the best to learn from."

She turned around to leave and headed towards the door, before stopping herself and turning around. "Oh! Before I forget, I simply must ask you…where did you find that dagger?"

He looked perplexed as his brows furrowed in slight confusion, and Isabel was careful to keep a straight face. "Dagger?"

"The Valyrian blade…the one you lost to Tyrion Lannister in a poor bet. Lord Stark showed it to me, and I must know how you managed to find such a rare beauty. I'm on the hunt for my own Valyrian blade, for the right price of course."

He held her gaze, suddenly catching on what she was referring to, and for a moment was at a loss of words. "It was a long time ago…I don't remember."

"Hm," she replied, "Shame…I would have love to have chatted to the merchant you bought it from. Oh well, good day to you Lord Baelish."

As she walked out, it was difficult for Isabel to wipe the triumphant smirk off her face. As she stepped out into the sunlight, she saw Ser Tommas patiently waiting for her.

"Did you find anything new out, my Lady?"

"He's a liar," she simply stated, "But that's nothing new…it only confirms what I already know. Follow him, I want to know what the seven hells he's up to. If he had anything to do with my father's death, I swear I will cut his head off myself."

* * *

><p>She had fallen back into her old routine since returning to the capital. Her mornings always brought here to the docks, where she found herself most at ease spending time with the merchants and traders from the Free Cities. By the afternoon, she'd make her way over to the castle to attend to Arya and Sansa Stark when their father was in council meetings. Since her own father's passing, she made a point to attend less of them, even though Varys and Petyr Baelish would always extend the invitation to her. When evening came, she'd either return to her household, or spend the evening at the Tower of the Hand before retiring for the night.<p>

And before she'd go to sleep, she read one of the many letters he had sent, to ensure she was blessed with peaceful dreams.

Everything looked like it was back to normal, but deep down, Isabel worried everyday about her future – she was just careful not to show it.

Walking through the courtyard of the castle, she was stopped by Jamie Lannister, whose golden armour shone brightly in the sun, and almost blinded her.

"Ser Jamie," she greeted, "Are you not suppose to be with the King right now?"

He smirked at her, and Isabel took the chance to really study his face. Despite his Lannister blood, Isabel had to admit that Jamie Lannister was extremely handsome. She'd often hear of the court ladies and servants often daydreaming of the kingslayer, and despite his tarnished reputation, he was able to charm every single female at court.

He was handsome to look at, but Isabel knew what kind of person he truly was.

"Contrary to popular belief, I do not babysit the king every single day," he clarified, "I've actually come to seek your delightful company."

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked curiously.

"We need to talk," he simply said. He opened his arms, inviting the young woman to walk beside him. Though thoroughly suspicious, she decided to humour him and took a place by his side as he led them out of the courtyard and towards the direction into Maegor's Holdfast, where the Queen's royal apartments were.

Without looking in her direction, Jamie Lannsiter kept his gaze straight ahead. "I hope you haven't forgotten about what my dear sister, our Queen has offered you."

Her shoulders tensed, not expecting him to bring up such a subject. In truth, she had thought it'd be forgotten since she last spoke to the Queen in private before they arrived in Winterfell.

"How could I forget, Ser Jamie," she said, "Your family is most gracious to offer this alliance."

"We look out for the underdogs," he commented.

She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent her from saying something that she probably would have regretted. Instead she put a smile on her face and chose to remain silent.

They arrived at the door of the Queen's chambers, where Jamie turned and faced her. "You know, if I were you, I'd take up the offer...something as generous as this doesn't come every day."

He then proceeded to lean in and pushed his face near her ear, where his breathe went down her neck and tickled the small hairs on the nape of her neck. Tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, he whispered, "Afterall, it's better to be with us, than against us."

Jamie took a step back before he gestured towards the door, "Your Queen awaits you."

The smile never left his face, as he turned and walked away leaving Isabel alone in the corridor, with Cersei Lannister waiting in the next room. She knocked on the wooden door and hesitated for a moment, before turning the handle and walking in.

The Queen's private chambers were lavished with golden curtains and red pillows, with a balcony near the end of the room that looked out to a private courtyard. The sun shone through the translucent fabrics, creating a wave of shadows that moved with the wind on the walls.

She walked slowly around the seemingly empty room. There were no servants or ladies-in-waiting, instead, the Queen's chambers were completely quiet.

It suddenly dawned on Isabel that this was a private meeting, set up by the Lannister siblings – a meeting that no one would have known that had taken a place, and no one would know Isabel was here if they decided to kill her.

A shadow caught the corner of her eye, and she caught the sight of the Queen's golden hair and her red dress, as her back faced towards her. She was sitting outside the balcony, near a small table that had a jug of wine and two cups. Isabel could only assume that the Queen was waiting for her.

Isabel walked towards the balcony, and pushed aside the drapery and took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"Wine?" she offered.

Isabel stole a glance at the contents to see her glass had already been filled. She hesitated to bring the wine to her lips, afraid it would be tainted. Cersei was staring intently at her, with an amused look on her face sensing what Isabel was already thinking. "Don't worry, it's not poisoned. I simply only wanted to talk privately."

"I can't imagine what my Queen would want a private audience with me," she replied, trying to play dumb.

"I hope you've considered my offer, since we've last spoke," she said, deliberately ignoring Isabel.

"It's passed my mind once or twice," she commented.

"And?" she pressed.

"May I speak frankly, your Grace?" she hesitantly asked.

Cersei gave her a knowing smile. "No one is here…you can speak freely."

"You and your family has shown no interest in me whatsoever in the past…so why now? Why do you offer me help?"

"You think my motives suspicious?"

"Yes..quite frankly, I do."

"It's understandable I suppose," she said, while taking a sip of wine from her own glass. "You know, we're very similar, you and I."

"Forgive me, but I don't see the likeness."

"We struggle to make our mark in the world of men," she observed, "You fight for your birthright, and you fight with more ferocity than any knight I've ever seen."

"And I see a queen who wishes to rule over her husband," Isabel commented.

"We both fight for what we believe in…why should men have all the fun?"

Isabel, suddenly enjoying this conversation chuckled out loud. It was a rare incident, speaking with the Queen in such frankness, yet it also comforted Isabel knowing that there was someone that understood her – even if that someone was a Lannister.

"Can you imagine…a world ruled by women?" Isabel wondered. "Where men ran the household and raised the children, while we rode into battle and earned the glory?"

For a few moments, the two women laughed at the thought, and enjoyed the silence that followed. "I offer you a sign of friendship, Isabel…because I know what it's like to fight. They will push you down, say you're weak…that you're only good for breeding; that your only duty is to be a good and obedient wife. I know what it's like to fight amongst a world of men."

"So you offer me help, because you take pity on me?"

"Because I want to see you rise above men."

"And what must I offer to such a generous friendship? Whom must I marry?"

"My cousin, Lancel. Of course, he will be knighted, and given lands and a stronghold to keep before your wedding date."

"You presume too much, your Grace. I have not yet accepted this gracious proposal," Isabel tried to clarify.

"I know you'll make the right decision," Cersei replied knowingly.

Isabel frowned, still unsatisfied at Cersei Lannister's explanation. As much sympathy and understanding the older woman offered Isabel, she knew she could not take it as such. There was an intended meaning behind her words, and the intention was not a sign a friendship.

Varys words echoed through her mind. _They will undermine you and take the Vale for themselves…you know this._

"I thank you for your concern and kind words, my Queen. But I assure you that I am much stronger than I appear…I do not need your pity, nor do I seek a friendship if it means to undermine my ability to rule in my own right."

"You cannot do this alone, Isabel Arryn. You will lose this game if you do not seek help."

"Your Grace, I did not say I was alone," she replied.

Isabel lifted her cup to her lips and finished the wine, until the last drop fell on her tongue. She got up and gave the Queen a quick curtsey before quickly leaving the room. As she closed the door behind her, she leaned against the wall as her legs almost gave way. In an effort to control her nerves she took a few deep breathes, and began laughing to herself, before walking away with her held up high.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope you enjoyed it! There's plenty more to come...I've actually written well into chapter 20, and I assure you..the political webs, war, lies and deception only get more interesting. So please stick around and find out what our characters are up to! :) :)**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

Arya hated the South. She hated everything about it – the people, their food, the weather, and most of all she hated Prince Joffrey. It was his fault that she had to scare away her direwolf, his fault which caused the life of her friend, Micah and his fault that her and Sansa absolutely hated each other.

She wished she could be back in Winterfell, with her brothers and Jon, where she could practice archery, ride horses and wrestle with Bran.

But she supposed the only good thing that came out of this trip was Needle, and her father's willingness to hire Syrio to teach her the art of water-dancing. The lessons were hard and tiresome, and she'd often come out sore, bruised and battered, but she refused to give up.

She had to be as light as a feather, and as nimble as a cat – that's what Syrio told her. If she could master catching the black cat that would frequent the halls and corridors of the castle, it would prove that she could be the silent and finesse warrior she dreamed of becoming.

Arya leaped in the air, hoping to catch the black feline that she had been following for the past hour. At the last second, the cat jumped away, leaving Arya empty handed as she collapsed on the floor.

"I'll get you," she said to the animal, determined to catch the cat before the end of the day.

She paid no heed to her surroundings as she ran down the stairs, through corridors and sometimes into servants. She ran into rooms that she knew nothing about, and before she knew it she was in the kitchens before she followed the cat into a hidden doorway and down a corridor of stairs that bled into darkness.

Arya looked around as she took in her surroundings, suddenly aware that she was somewhere deep within the castle. She looked to her right, and her jaw dropped as she approached the ancient skull of a large dragon head. The fire lanterns that dimly lit the area casted dark shadows on it, and it looked like they had brought the dragon skull back to life.

She heard steps in the distance that were approaching her direction. Afraid that she'd be punished for being in the part of the castle she wasn't suppose to be in, she hid. Arya jumped into the mouth of the dragon skull and crouched down so she was hidden from view.

"I have full confidence that she'll agree to our plans, I saw it in her eyes," said a voice.

"But will she consent to marriage?"

"I don't see why not. Do not worry about her for the time being. For now, we must have the dragons ready for invasion. The time is coming - the lions and the wolves are already at each other's throats, and if the gods are good, they'll kill each other before we cross the sea."

"I'm afraid it might be delayed. With the Khaleesi pregnant, the Khal will want to wait until his child is born. We will need more time should the invasion be delayed."

"Well, killing the Hand of the King might give us some more time. We got rid of one, why not another?"

She waited and dared not move from her hiding place until she could not hear the voices anymore. Her hands began to shake, suddenly afraid of what these two mysterious men had spoken. Lions? Wolves? Killing the Hand of the King?

Was someone trying to kill her father?

She began to run out of fear. She ran further down the hall, unsure of where it would lead, but she did not stop afraid that the two men had caught her eavesdropping and now were chasing her. Before she knew it she emerged into daylight, barely hovering above water and at the edge of the mountain.

Arya had uknowingly discovered a secret passage that led her right at the edge of the cliff, and assumed that's how the two men got into the castle.

Tired, exhausted and anxious to find her father she began to run - back to the city, back to the castle and back to the Tower's Hand where she knew she'd be safe.

She kept running until she ran into a body, and the skirts had engulfed her body. "Arya!" the other woman yelled.

The Stark girl looked up, suddenly relieved that it was Isabel Arryn and not a stranger. She hugged her waist tightly, which shocked her but Isabel quickly put her arms around her to soothe her. "Arya, what's wrong. You look like you just ran a mile…you look frightened."

"They're going to kill him! They're going to murder him, just like they murdered Jon Arryn!" she sputtered out.

Isabel crouched down so she was eye level with Arya. "Shhh..child. Take a deep breathe and calm yourself. Do not speak these words here…it is not safe."

She led Arya to an empty room, and shut the door after making sure no one had seen them. "Arya, who's trying to kill who?"

"I heard them! Syrio had me chasing cats, so I was following it until I was in this place, I don't know where I ended up though. There was a dragon skull hidden in the caves…and then they came. They were talking about the lions and the wolves and murdering the Hand of the King. They said they got rid of one, why not another. I'm afraid Isabel..they're going to murder my father."

Isabel stroked the girl's hair in an effort to calm her down. "Did you see who these people were? Do you remember what else they talked about?"

A dark feeling went straight to the pit of her stomach. Her father had indeed been murdered, and she suddenly began to fear that his death was not just a simple murder.

"I don't know…I didn't see their faces. They said war was going to break out soon, and an invasion will happen."

She tightened her throat and tried to control her own breathing. It was all that she needed to know – she knew who was behind all of this.

"Is anybody going to happen to my father?" Arya asked worriedly.

"Nothing is going to happen to your father, Arya. Your father is well protected and is surrounded by men only loyal to him. Whoever these men were…they were talking nonsense."

Isabel's words still didn't calm Arya down, and she could see the fear she had in her eyes. "Go back to your father, and tell him what you told me. Run until you are safe and back in your quarters and speak to no one else about this, understand?"

Arya nodded before she gave Isabel another tight hug and ran off in search for her father.

She immediately set off in the other direction with one destination in mind. She had to get to the bottom of this - she needed to find out the truth. She took the numerous twists and turns through the castle until she came to a spiral staircase.

Isabel knocked on the wooden door rather impatiently. When she failed to hear anything on the otherside, she knocked again, this time more forcibly until her knuckles were red and started to burn from the impact.

The door suddenly opened, and his bald head popped out, surprised to have such a visitor that late in the evening.

"Let me in," she demanded and proceeded to open the door with such force it had even surprised her. "We need to talk."

"Of course, my Lady. It must be important…I sense some urgency in your voice," he replied as he quietly shut the door.

"Did you know?" she asked, fearful that her voice would begin to break. "Did you know he was murdered and yet you chose to remain silent?"

Varys remained calm, surprised she had figured it out so quickly, but did let his emotions show. "I knew there were those who sought to have him dead."

"Why did you not do anything?"

"Because it had to be done, to ensure our plans remained on schedule," he explained.

"How could you?" she asked in disbelief, "Is your plan to restore the Targaryen children so precious to you that you're willing to sacrifice innocent people?"

"It was a sacrifice that had to be made."

"And what of Ned Stark? Is his life to be sacrificed in the name of the realm?"

"If it comes to it, then yes. I will take as many lives as it takes to ensure this realm is restored to the proper order."

"And what about my life?"

Varys remained silent, and watched as Isabel paced around the room trying to understand the situation that had fallen between them. She finally collapsed in a chair, where her hands began shaking uncontrollably, suddenly unable to hide her emotions from Lord Varys.

"How did he die?" she asked quietly, as she felt the tears falling on her cheeks.

"Tears of Lys," he calmly replied. "Poison to the stomach."

A cry escaped her mouth, and she held her hand to her mouth to silence herself. "W-who?"

"It does not matter," Varys said, wanting to avoid the subject.

"It matters to me!" she yelled, "Who murdered my father?"

"Your father's squire, Ser Hugh of the Vale administered the poison…told by Lysa Arryn. But they were merely a pawn in this scheme; they were easy to manipulate…they had soft hearts and soft spines.

"But why?"

"Your father was investigating the true nature of the Baratheon children, a treasonous risk should he be discovered. It cost him his life...but the true culprit behind his death was not the Lannisters…but the work of Petyr Baelish. Why he orchestrated this act, I have yet to figure out."

She closed her eyelids, and let the tears fall. It was useless to try and stop them. Everything she had feared was now confirmed true. Everything that she did not want to believe, she was suddenly forced to face.

Petyr Baelish.

It was at the moment that she promised herself, to her father, her mother and her family's honour, that she would seek her vengeance.

"I will not be a pawn that you can toss away in this game Lord Varys," she said in finality, after her tears subsided.

"In time Isabel you will learn how to play this game without my help. You will become a player, able to move your pawns on the chessboard. But for now, you must do what I say…if you want to stay alive."

She blankly stared at the fire, suddenly mesmerized by the flames that danced with each other. She felt numb and empty, feeling robbed of everything she had cared about or loved. She thought of the Vale, and asked herself if this was all worth it. Was she ready to have her hands tainted with blood of innocent people? Was she willing to lose all her honour in the name of vengeance, power and ambition? She could see the images of her younger self, running through the Hand's Tower and into her father's arms through the flames of the fire.

How did it come to this? Where did the virtues of an innocent child go, having now been replaced with dark shadows that now began to slowly seep into her heart?

_Sacrifices will be made, _a voice whispered.

"What must I do?" she asked slowly.

"Do nothing," he instructed. "The Lannisters and Starks are on the brink of war and when that happens. You will not take sides and you will not provide aide, until I instruct you to."

"I want something else, otherwise I will expose your true nature to the King and have him brand you as a traitor," she demanded.

"Anything … within reason," he compromised.

"I want Petyr Baelish. I want him to rise so high, that when he falls there will be no one to catch him. I want the Lannisters and Lysa Arryn. I want them all…and I want them all dead. And I want to be the one who swings the blade."

Varys slightly inclined his head and gave her a wary nod of consent, suddenly seeing the fire ignite in her eyes. _Power corrupts the soul,_ he said to himself. Its seed now planted within Isabel's heart, and now it was only a matter of time before it sought to infect her entire body and soul.

"Consider it done."

* * *

><p><em>The feasts and tourneys were events that were rare in the Vale. The music, dancing, and the notions of courtly love instantly fascinated the young girl from the first moment she set her eyes upon it. Of course, she was far too young for any knight to offer her tokens of love and adoration. But she wished one day, she would be lady at court where all knights and nobles would call the most beautiful noble.<em>

"_Oh father! They were very handsome," she boasted, after seeing her first tourney since coming to King's Landing._

"_I am very glad you are finding laughter and smiles within this city. I feared you would not enjoy yourself and that you would be crying to go home to your mother," he replied, "Tell me, are you enjoying yourself?"_

"_Oh yes! The ladies are so beautiful, especially the Queen. Her hair is so golden, the ladies say it carries the sun's rays and shines just as brightly as the sun itself. I wish to be just like them when I grow up. I wish to wear their pretty dresses, and dance as gracefully as they do," she declared._

_Her father chuckled and picked her up in his arms, planting kisses all around her face while spinning her in the air. His affection gave her giggles as she returned his love, placing a kiss of her own on his nose and then his forehead._

"_And I wish to be just like you when I grow up," she declared._

"_Me? But I am no lady. I am a warrior; I fight swords, ride horses and hunt. I eat with my fingers and drink until my beard is filled with wine. I do not think you should wish to be like your father," he lightly commented._

"_I will be as beautiful and lovely as the Queen and her ladies, with your wisdom, honour and judgment," she said proudly._

"_That is a very difficult task to fulfill, my sweet daughter. But should you succeed, I shall be very proud of you," he told her._

"_I can do it," she responded. "I will make you proud! And mother too! You'll see!"_

_Jon Arryn laughed again and kissed Isabel's head and hugged her tightly. He silently prayed to the seven to protect his daughter, to grant her a life of peace and happiness. In his eyes, she would always be his innocent child, his little girl that he promised to protect from the moment she was born._

"_Don't grow up too fast, my sweet child."_

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **_**Thanks for hanging in there folks!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews/feedback so far! In celebration of the big premiere for the new season, I present to you all ... another chapter! Enjoy :) :)**

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><p>Chapter 12:<p>

People started running past Isabel on the streets and headed towards Silk Street, which peaked her interest. She saw a group of the City Guard march past her as they yelled between each other about a fight that erupted on the streets and that people had been killed. As Isabel turned the corner, she saw the golden cloaks led by Ser Jamie Lannister walking towards her.

He has blood on his face and sweat on his brow while he resheathed his sword as if he had just finished a hard fought battle. As he walked past Isabel, he smugly looked at her but said nothing to offer any sort of explanation. His actions deeply disturbed her and she picked up her skirts and briskly walked, following the directions of the other people around her until she came to a crowd that was surrounding a number of bodies lying on the floor.

"Did you see it?" said an old man that had been walking not far in front of her.

"I heard the lions ambushed him...killed his men and then they faced off each other!"

"I heard the Hand provoked the Kingslayer!"

"Doesn't matter now…the Hand is as good as dead."

She made no time pushing herself in between the shoulders of the people in front of her and finally made her way to the front, and could only look on in horror as she saw the unconscious body of Ned Stark with a spear that had been impaled in his left thigh. Not far away from him were four of his men that Isabel had recognized from her visits to the Hand's Tower.

She rushed to Ned's side and made sure he was still alive. His heart was weak, and was losing blood extremely fast. Isabel looked around, and could not believe that the City Watch had arrived but had chosen to remain at the side and failing to call or seek help.

"What are you doing?" she yelled at them. "This is the Hand of the King! He needs help!"

Their eyes shifted towards one another, unsure of which orders to carry. Ser Tommas knelt by her side and whispered in her ear, "They've been bought by the Lannisters…they won't do anything to help him. No..they've come to watch him die."

She did not notice that Ned Stark's blood was now seeping between her fingers, and at the hem of her skirts where the pools of blood that were on the floor were now seeping into the sand and everything it would touch.

"Then we will help him, Ser Tommas," she instructed, "The City Watch may turn a blind eye, but I will not."

She glanced around, wary at the strange faces and eyes that were pointing and staring at her. The commoners were all afraid of what was happening, with their inquisitive and accusing glares in her direction. Isabel did not recognize anybody that could be of her service, and wished she had more men with her at that very moment.

She caught his stare within a blink of an eye, hidden deep within the crowds and merely looked on. Petyr Baelish was standing amidst of the chaos, and yet failed to come out and offer help, which gave Isabel reasonable cause to believe that he had something to do with this incident.

The sight of him made her blood boil, and wanted to do nothing more than to take the great sword of Ned Stark, which was lying a few feet away from her, and to hurl it in Petyr Baelish's direction and hoped it would impale him through the heart.

_Play this game Isabel,_ a voice whispered to her. _Play it well and you shall be rewarded._

* * *

><p>She sat in the council room with the others while they waited for their King. Word had spread quickly to the Red Keep that the Hand of the King was injured from a street fight with Ser Jamie Lannister. Ser Tommas had wasted no time in getting the help he needed in getting Ned Stark transported to the Red Keep. After announcing to anyone in the crowd that should the Hand live that anyone who would offer a helping hand would be rewarded, a few people reluctantly stepped forward and offered their services.<p>

She now waited for her King, to discuss what had happened and to ponder on their next moves. When she entered the castle, she soon discovered that Tyrion Lannister, brother to the Queen had been taken prisoner by Catelyn Tully while on King's Road and presently was headed toward the Vale. As retaliation, the Kingslayer immediately hunted Ned Stark down to declared revenge and vengeance. Despite the horrible situation that would threaten to put the Seven Kingdoms in chaos, she could not help but glare at Petyr Baelish consumed in her own vengeance, who sat patiently in his spot completely unaware of her hateful stares.

"I can't imagine why Ned would be in that part of town," Renly Baratheon wondered.

"Or why Catelyn Tully would arrest Tyrion," said Ser Barristan Selmy.

"She accuses him of a crime that was committed in Winterfell," Petyr offered, "A most impulsive decision, for the mystery as yet to be solved. And now we must fix this problem before war breaks out between the Lannisters and Starks."

"War has already started," Varys suggested, "I'm told Tywin Lannister is already massing his bannermen and will soon invade the Riverlands. An army of twenty-thousand apparently."

Isabel remained silent in their conversation, and stared at her hands, which only moments before was drenched in Ned Stark's blood. She stared at them for so long that she could have sworn she could see a faint colour of red at the tips of her fingers. Her dress had little specks of blood, and would now be the reminder of an event she was sure that would put the whole country into war.

_Was this Varys' doing? _

The door swung open and the King barged in and wasted no time in getting straight to business.

"Someone better tell me, what the bloody hell happened," he roared out, "and I want the damn truth. First thing I know is that Catelyn Tully has taken the Queen's brother prisoner, Jamie Lannister disappears from under my nose and what do I find out? He puts a spear through the leg of the Hand of the King. And now? Tywin Lannister is calling his men to invade the Riverlands!"

"We should write to the Vale quickly then," Maester Pycelle suggested, "And instruct Lord Robert and his mother to release Tyrion."

"Tyrion Lannister is prisoner to Catelyn, not Lysa or her son," Petyr clarified.

"That does not mean Lady Lysa Arryn should not advise her sister to release him," he replied.

"This better be solved quickly," King Robert yelled impatiently, "I will not have my country torn in two because of some dwarf!"

"What crime does she accuse Tyrion of?" ask Isabel, "Was there an explanation offered?"

"The men say she has arrested him on grounds of attempted murder of her son, Bran Stark," Varys said.

"You mean the incident at Winterfell?" King Robert asked, "The boy fell from the watch tower."

"She believes otherwise."

"Seven hells," he cried, "I will not have the lions and the wolves attacking each other's throats. So as my council, you better give me a solution to this bloody mess."

Everybody remained silent, unsure of what to say or how to remedy the situation. Tywin's family honour had been wronged, and he now sought justice, while the Starks sought justice for a crime that was committed in their lands. It was a difficult situation to grasp, and one that would never be completely solved until Ned Stark woke up and offered his own explanation.

An idea popped into Isabel's mind. It was a risk that could jeopardize Varys' intended plans as he had previously instructed her to not interfere. But the opportunity was there, and maybe...just maybe she could be granted the King's dispensation after all.

"I agree with Maester Pycelle," she slowly began, "we can wait until Tyrion arrives at the Eyrie, and order his release until then."

They all looked at her with curiousity, while Varys looked at her with caution. He was secretly telling her to tread carefully, and to not interfere with a plan that he had already set in motion.

_I may play your game Lord Varys, but I will play by my rules._

"Issuing a royal order by the King for the release of Tyrion may not be the best solution. This incident is a…private matter," Peytr Baelish piped in. "One family has wronged the other. The quarrel is between them. To have this council intervene in this matter could have devastating consequences."

"Then it will off the record," she quickly said.

"I do not think Lady Lysa Arryn will release Tyrion because the King ordered her _off the record,_" he mocked.

"If the King orders, then the Defender and Lord of the Vale _must_ follow," she said, choosing her words carefully.

King Robert stared intently at her, and his let out a loud grunt, catching on her hidden intents. "You're as clever as your father, girl."

"Your Grace, Tyrion would be released, and a war could be avoided, if we act quickly," she told him.

"And if I give you your dispensation," he finished for her.

"The Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East is your most humble and loyal servant," she said, and averted her gaze to the table, suddenly fearful of the Baratheon King.

She stole a side glance at Varys, who now refused to give away any emotion on his face. Whether he thought her foolish, stupid, rash or treacherous, Isabel could not tell.

After a long hard thought, King Robert slammed his fist down at the table, startling everybody in the room. His piercing gaze met Isabel's eye as he pointed his finger at her. "Bring the Imp back in one piece, and make sure this war doesn't break out. This is your king's wish and command….and as Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East, I expect you to keep the peace."

She bowed her head and could no longer hide the victorious smirk on her face. "As you wish, my King."

* * *

><p>She sat on the side of Ned Stark's bed, who lied completely still in his deep slumber unaware of the events which were rapidly unfolding around him. When Isabel and Ser Tommas reached the Red Keep, Ned was barely clinging onto his life due to the amount of blood that he lost. Maester Pycelle was unsure if his weakened state could survive the fever that shortly followed, and was considering administering the milk of poppy to ease the suffering.<p>

For a short time, everybody was unsure whether Ned Stark was going to die. And the words the Varys told her had haunted her since then.

_I will take as many lives as it takes, _the voice whispered in her head.

He told her to do nothing, but how could she? She saw the tears and cries that Sansa and Arya Stark shed for their father. She saw the fear in Arya Stark's eyes as her greatest nightmare had come true, and it made Isabel feel guilty for telling the younger girl that nothing would ever happen to her father.

"I'm sorry Ned…I could have stopped all of this," she whispered.

She knew Ned Stark was investigating Jon Arryn's murder, and there were rumours that he had visited that brothel seeking such information. Isabel could have put a stop to this, for Varys had told her enough to wipe any suspicion off the Lannisters. She could have told Ned that it was Petyr Baelish who used all his lies and deceptions to implicate the lions, and was leading him on in a wild goose chase.

"Please forgive me, but there are greater things at stake…things you cannot comprehend," she whispered again.

Isabel left his room, but was startled by Lord Varys who was waiting for her outside.

"I must caution you in your next moves, my Lady. I caution you not be so rash in the near future," he warned.

She darted her eyes around, making sure that there was no one around them to eavesdrop, but lowered her voice for safe measures. "Did you know about this too?" she accused.

"It had to be done," he replied.

"Four people died today in the streets, because of you. Four _innocent_ men."

"They also died because of you," he challenged, "You knew the truth, and you failed to inform Ned about it. You practically gave him to Petyr and his devious ways."

She was at a loss of words, trying to defend herself, but deep down she knew it was useless. Every word that Varys spoke of was true. Their hands were on her blood as well – she was just as guilty as Varys.

"I should have done something. I should have said something," she said in a vain attempt to reason with herself.

"And what would have that accomplished? Knowing Petyr's ways, he would have maneuvered his way out, and somehow still blame the Lannisters. And you could not have predicted Lady Stark taking Tyrion hostage."

"How many others must we hurt?" she asked herself, "How much more blood will taint my hands?"

She looked down at her bare hands, and could not erase the feeling of the red liquid that seeped through her fingers.

"To win the game of thrones? Whatever it takes."

* * *

><p>The arrow hit its target perfectly, embedding its head in the middle of the board. Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy practiced their archery skills everyday to ensure they would become excellent marksmen. It was Theon's favourite pastime, and it was Robb's opportunity to have a moment for himself.<p>

His mother's sudden departure to King's Landing meant that he was ruling the North as well as Winterfell by himself. Of course he had his father's bannermen and Maester Pycelle to advise him, but he had never felt so alone in his life.

_Thud._ Another arrow was let loose, and landed perfectly in the middle.

He was relieved when Bran woke up, but felt helpless that he could not give his brother the miracle that he desperately wanted. The gods were unfair to rob a child of his dreams, but instead leave him a broken cripple

Word had quickly come from the ravens, announcing that his mother had taken Tyrion Lannister as hostage and now was headed to the Vale. His father, now wounded and unconscious was helpless to mediate the situation as the Lannisters were threatening to invade his mother's homeland.

Time was ticking, and it would be very soon when his Northern men would be looking at him for action, should his father perish or if the Riverlands be invaded. He could no longer be a young boy anymore; he had to grow up and become the man that his Father raised him to be. He needed to lead, to rule and very soon, he could be riding into open war.

"I say we call your father's bannermen now and march south to help your mother's house…we'll let the Lannisters know that we're coming for them," said Theon, as he restrung his bow to ready another shot.

"No," Robb interjected. "We wait until the Lannisters make the first move."

"So they can have the first swing? They'll think us weak! I say we should attack now!"

"I'll let them make the first move, so I can better study my opponent Theon. I will not risk the lives of my men because of impulsive decisions. This is not a game anymore…we could be on the brink of war; real lives are now at stake."

"Do you think your father will wake up? Do you think he'll come back to Winterfell to lead us?"

Robb pursed his lips and frowned. "I don't know."

His thoughts went to Isabel, and suddenly began to understand what it was like to live in her shoes. She often spoke of the treachery and deceit that she had to endure in King's Landing, and the impossible decisions she had to undertake. She talked about sacrifices that needed to happen, and how heavy the burden was on her shoulders. She talked about how scared she was because of the uncertainty of her future.

Danger was at his doorsteps, and he was scared of what was to come. He needed her desperately, he wanted her by his side and began to wonder if he would ever see her again, despite a foolish promise they made only months earlier.

_You know I can't Robb._

That's what she kept saying to him, and yet he willed his heart not to listen and had blindly forced her into giving them another chance. He wanted things to work out – he almost wished for it every day but he had failed to listen to her cautious words. Her last letter sent a deep dark feeling to the pit of his stomach. He could sense the fear in her words, as she too had wondered what the realm would become should war erupt, and what would become of them. It also saddened his heart to see the tear stains near the bottom of the page, how her usual eloquent signed named was now replaced with a dark black smudge across the bottom of the letter.

Was she crying for him? Was she afraid for him?

He wanted nothing but to run away from his responsibilities and take her away from all the troubles that had plagued the young pair. But war was fast approaching, and his dreams did not seem to matter anymore. All of Winterfell and its lands were on his shoulders, and they were waiting for their Lord.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Alas, our Lady Isabel now returns to the Vale, with a mighty advantage to help her cause...removing her brother is one task, but can she win the loyalty of her lords? But war now approaches, and the game is about to change yet again... **

**:) **


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

She wasted no time in preparing her journey back to the Vale. Arrangements were made, and she was set to leave by sunset if she wanted to arrive in Gulltown by the next morning. Though the king made it seem like her mission would be of a temporary absence in King's Landing, deep down she had a strong instinct that this would probably be the last time she'd ever set foot in the capital.

_Keep the peace, whatever it takes._

It was a daunting task, but she knew she had the strength to achieve it. Releasing Tyrion Lannister was the easy part – it was deciding whether she would send her Valemen into war was a decision that weighed heavy in her heart. She knew the Riverlands would ask for her support and now that she had refused the Lannister's hand of friendship, she had gained their enmity bringing further worries that they might attack the Vale. And yet, she also knew that Varys had instructed her to not interfere in what was to come.

_How can I not do anything? War will be on our very doorsteps soon._

She removed the remainder of her dresses from her wardrobe and placed it in the last remaining chest before closing it and locking it with a key. A knock at the door interrupted Isabel and she turned around to see Arya Stark waiting by the entrance, hesitant to walk in.

"The door was open," the girl said timidly.

"Come in," Isabel replied with a warm smile and motioned the younger girl to her bed where Arya sat down.

"Why do you have to go?"

"It's the king's orders Arya," she tried to explain. "Tensions are high in the realm, and I must do what I can to mediate it."

"I don't want you to leave," she stated, "Isabel…my father…"

In an instant, Isabel knelt in front of the northern girl and held her small hands within hers. "He _will_ wake up. Do not worry."

"They killed Jory! They almost killed my father! What if I'm next?"

"Then you fight back Arya," she said earnestly, "you show the lions there's a wolf in you that can battle them head on. You show them what the North is capable of."

Her words did not convince of comfort Arya, and she sat on her bed with a worried look on her face. It was her fault that her father was injured, she told herself. If only she was able to see who those two men were or if only she followed them and listened to more of their conversation, then perhaps none of this would have happened.

Isabel did not know what else to do to calm her nerves. But an idea appeared in her head, and she went to one of her chests and began rummaging through her belongings until she pulled out an amulet – the very one she gave her father before he was murdered.

"It's a dragonglass amulet, blessed by the priests of Rh'llor to ward off the evil shadows that lurk in the corners. It was my father's, and now I give it to you to protect you and ease you from your worries," she explained as she put it around Arya's neck, "Keep it with you always, wear it under your clothes and it will keep you safe. Should _anything_ happen while I'm gone and you don't feel safe in this castle anymore, go to the ports and show this amulet to the ship that sails the purple masts. It's a Braavosi ship, and the only one that ports in Blackwater this time of year, so you can't miss it. Tell the captain that I sent you there, and he will take you home."

"Am I still in danger then?"

"We do not know what tomorrow brings," she said sadly, and gently cupped the young girl's face, "Anything could happen, so we must be prepared. If you can't find the ship, then this amulet fetches a good price…enough for safe passage back to White Harbour. Understand?"

Arya nodded, and held the amulet in her hand for a moment before concealing it underneath her dress. She jumped up and gave a tight hug to Isabel wishing that she wouldn't leave. With her father still not awake, Isabel was the only friend she could trust in King's Landing.

And now she was leaving – leaving Arya alone and afraid.

* * *

><p>At dusk, when the sun began inching towards the horizon, the ports at Blackwater Rush were still bustling with activity. Many ships were getting ready to set sail, while other ships were just arriving into the capital city. As her men began loading her belongings onto the ship sent by the Vale, she spotted Varys approaching the docks.<p>

"It's a rare occasion for you to venture outside the Red Keep," she said, "Come to see me off?"

He smiled and handed her a scroll, "Your dispensation papers, as promised by the King. Take precaution, Lady Isabel. You head towards dangerous waters and uncertain circumstances. Remember what I've told you."

She unconsciously narrowed her eyes at him. "That sounded more like a threat."

"Then you would do wise to listen to my words of wisdom," he objected.

"I intend to release the Imp, should he still be alive when I arrive at the Eyrie," she explained.

"Lady Stark will ask you for your support to defend her father's lands. You are to withhold any sort of aid, even if your lords advocate for war," he explained.

"And if I don't?"

"I think you already know what the consequences will be should you not play by my rules, my Lady."

"If anything happens to Ned...and I mean _anything_, to him or his daughters, then consider the rules changed. _These_ are my words of wisdom Lord Varys," she challenged.

Each day she failed to do anything to stop Varys' master plan, she felt increasingly guilty. The burden on her shoulders became heavier and heavier within each passing day, as the guilt had begun to settle in her heart.

_How many must we take?_

_To win the game of thrones? Whatever it takes,_ a voice whispered in the wind.

"Before you leave, there is a matter that I must urgently discuss with you," he added, as if he did not take Isabel's own threat seriously.

"And which matter is that?" she asked warily.

"Your marriage contract," he stated, "We must make your betrothal official, and when the time comes you will sail to the east and marry our young lord."

She closed her eyes and slightly cringed, as she was hoping to avoid the subject entirely. "What is his price? Ships? An Army? An heir?"

"Your dowry is a considerable asset," he agreed, "but our young lord desires unconditional loyalty, from you and your lords. In return, he'll…forgive your father's actions against his father during the Rebellion."

"Is this really the best time to be discussing these matters?" she asked rather impatiently, "any decision relating to this must be made with a clear conscience."

"It is still a decision that must be made quickly. War is coming, and it does not give us much time to sit idly anymore," he explained.

"Then you will tell your beggar king that he must wait on my decision!" she said exasperated, "Ladies should not be rushed in these matters."

In truth, Isabel was trying to avoid the marriage altogether, as her heart was somewhere else. She promised herself long ago that marriage would never be a tool in her schemes. In all the darkness and corruption that surrounded her, marriage was one desire and one chance for her own happiness.

"I will expect your decision shortly then. He is eager to meet you and marry you soon. He thinks you will make a fine queen one day," he suggested.

"What have you told him?" she asked suspiciously.

"Your beauty…your strength, and the adoration your lords hold for you. Nothing but good things, I assure you."

She closed her eyes once again, unable to find a solution to avoid this matter no longer. As much as her heart screamed to walk away, she found herself sealing her future to an arranged marriage, a powerful alliance and entering the most dangerous game that has yet to be played.

"Tell him…I look forward to the day I sail to the east and that I am most eager to look upon his face when we wed."

Isabel didn't even notice the one tear drop that escaped from her eye and fell on her cheek as she walked away from the Master of Whispers and boarded her ship.

_Sacrifices must be made, _the wind whispered in her ears.

* * *

><p>Lysa Arryn was thoroughly surprised when her sister walked into the High Hall. She hadn't seen Catelyn since she married Eddard Stark during the Rebellion, and became suspicious why she decided to grace herself with her presence now. At the sight of a smaller being behind her sister was Tyrion Lannister, the one person she instantly narrowed her eyes at.<p>

_He's coming for you,_ a sinister voice whispered. _You and your precious son…he is coming for you both._

"What are you doing here?" she asked in quivering voice.

Catelyn was shocked at the sight of Lysa Arryn, for she was no longer the youthful beauty that she remembered her by. She was told her sister grew paranoid and bitter from a loveless marriage, but could not imagine that the years had taken the greatest strain on her. She looked tired, worn out and lifeless.

Beside her was Robert Arryn, a mere boy of six and the first time Catelyn laid her eyes upon her nephew. She immediately grew concerned when she observed that Robert was so pale that his skin looked almost blue, and his cheekbones nearly popped out of his skin.

It was as if both of them had not seen the sun nor have eaten in weeks.

"I have taken Tyrion Lannister as my prisoner…to answer for the attempted murder of my son, Bran," Catelyn began.

The sight of the dwarf continued to unnerved Lysa, and soon the words of her sister became deaf upon her ears. It was as if Tyrion Lannister was whispering his thoughts into her mind, and it began to drive her insane.

_I killed your husband, and now I have come for you and your son._

_What a Lannister wants, a Lannister gets…and I have come to claim what is mine._

"No!" Lysa yelled out, surprising the entire room into silence, "You will not kill my son…you will not kill me!"

Tyrion gave her a confused look, unsure of what was happening anymore. "I'm a bit lost now…why would I want to kill your son? He looks like he's going to go out by himself anyways."

It wasn't the wisest thing to say, offending the Vale's Lord in a room all loyal to Robert Arryn, but sometimes Tyrion Lannister could not help it.

"Mind your words, Lannister," Lysa seethed.

She motioned for her guards to seize the dwarf, away from Catelyn's custody. "You sir are hereby charged with the murder of my husband, Jon Arryn. You'll spend your night in the sky cells tonight, and tomorrow…you'll meet your fate here through the Moon Door."

The young boy perked up at the words, and looked up with wonder and curiousity. "Are you going to make him fly mother? I want to see the little man fly!"

"Soon enough, my sweet child. Soon enough," she affectionately soothed.

"You will bring the wrath of my family to your doorsteps, lady," Tyrion warned, "Are you ready for such open warfare? Are you ready to put your son's in harms way to see me drop to my death for a crime I did not commit?"

"The Eyrie is impenetrable," she said confidently. "No one can challenge us."

"That's not what she thinks," he muttered.

"Speak up, imp! What did you say?"

"Your husband's daughter," he replied louder, "She challenges you, and from what I hear she might just win."

The fire behind her ice blue eyes ignited and she immediately stood up and yelled to the room, "That _girl_ is not the Lady of the Vale. She will never be! And if anyone says otherwise, I will have you all go out through the Moon Door!"

Some of the lords shifted their eyes, and casted their gaze down in an effort to remain silence, while Robert began clapping at the mention of the Moon Door, ignorant of Lysa's true words. Catelyn furrowed her brows when she noticed this, but kept her thoughts to herself. She was worried for Lysa; she was not well and it was evident that her paranoia made it difficult for her to distinguish between friend and foe leading her to wonder if she saw her own sister as an enemy.

As Tyrion was forced out of the High Hall by the guards, Catelyn knelt down before Lysa and whispered, "You are not well, my dear sister. Jon's murder has made you anxious…you need rest."

"Don't tell me what to do," Lysa snapped, "I am Regent of the Vale and you are my guest. You would be wise, dear sister to not offend me while you grace my presence."

It was useless to try and reason with Lysa Arryn, for her own fears had long consumed her soul and corrupt her thoughts. Catelyn bowed slightly for offending her, and quickly thanked her before making her way back to the corridor to leave the woman that suddenly felt like a stranger to her own dark thoughts.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Enjoy :) **


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

The entire Red Keep was on edge with a sudden increase in Gold Cloaks that now roamed the halls, while those loyal to the Hand of the King increased their guard surrounding the Hand's Tower. Servants scurried across corridors and courtyards while many of the court nobles now talked in hush whispers, afraid and curious at the increasing tension between the Lannisters and Starks.

Cersei Lannister barely slept since she had first learned that her brother was taken hostage by Catelyn Tully. Though she hated her younger brother, it was still an insult to her family, their honour, and slight to her beloved Jamie. It was her extreme fondness of Jamie Lannister that forced her to tolerate Tyrion, and it was his love for their brother that caused him to attack Ned Stark, flee King's Landing and was now currently hoisting an army that was set to march into the Riverlands.

A knock on her door, sent on of her ladies to see who the visitor was. As the young brunette girl came running in back to her drawing room, she dipped into a quick curtsey before announcing that it was Lancel Lannister, the Queen's cousin seeking a private audience.

He was much younger than herself, but stood tall and proud like any hardened Lannister. His face, still youthful was framed by the trademark Lannister golden hair, and though he looked hollow and small in the new armour he was adorned in, he was still admired by many of the ladies at court. He gave a low bow to her. "My Queen."

"What news of my brother and father?" she inquired.

"They've nearly an army of twenty-thousand, my Lady. Your father has already commanded the Mountain to raid the Riverlands with an army of one hundred, and your brother is awaiting your father's orders to attack."

"And the Hand? Has he woken yet?"

"No, my Lady. I'm told by the servants that he has not stirred yet…but there is speculation that should he wake, he will not remain in King's Landing for much longer."

"A wise decision, for the offense his wife has taken against us."

She gave her younger cousin an admiring smile and walked over to him. She cupped his cheeks with her hands and placed a kiss on his lips, to which she felt he slightly quivered under her touch.

"To think you were almost betrothed to that Arryn girl," she mused, "You were too good for her. Father never have never suggested it..to have our Lannister blood become dirtied with our enemies."

Lancel gulped at the mention of Isabel, but felt his stomach flutter at her slight compliment. He always admired Cersei since he was a young child and since coming to King's Landing made the extra effort to impress her so that one day she would speak in his favour when it came time when Lancel was knighted and lead an army like his father.

"She has left for the Eyrie, I am told. King Robert issued the dispensation to her," he stated.

Her smiled disappeared from her face and sat back down, clearly not amused anymore. "She's clearly no use to us anymore."

"Will she be an eventual threat?"

She pondered for a moment, "It's difficult to say…the Valemen are one of the strongest armies in the realm and they command a fleet of ships that could easily rival the Iron Islands, but her involvement in our quarrels will all depend on whether she can gain enough support from her lords. Not every man is willing to take orders from a woman. She refuses to alliance with us, so I begin to wonder who will be her saviour when she comes falling down."

"Another suitor?"

"I believe so...but whether it's that Stark boy, a Frey, Tully or some other house in the Vale I do not know. Whoever her suitors are…they may pose a threat to us. It may double her power within this realm."

"Do you believe she will come to their aide when the time comes?"

"I've been watching Isabel for a long time…she has the heart and strength of her father, thinks and plots like Petyr Baelish. Isabel Arryn would have been a powerful ally had she agreed to our alliance, but she made her decision. She's not stupid, she knows this isn't her battle…and she'll be smart enough to keep her pretty head out of this war."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then she will have to face the wrath of the lions…and that is something that will bring her down to her knees."

* * *

><p>The moment the ship docked at the ports of Gulltown, Isabel had almost flung herself off the ship and onto a horse to make her way to the Eyrie. The journey was rough, and they were met with a particular nasty storm that had delayed their arrival until almost mid-day. Isabel had gotten very little sleep and felt her body failing as every movement she began to make felt slower and heavier. With time now running out, she knew Tyrion's life was now in danger and she was eager to arrive at the Eyrie before anything could happen.<p>

Lord Hersy once again welcomed her to the Vale and now rode beside her as they raced back to High Hall.

"What news, Lord Hersy?"

"The Lannister spent the night in the sky cells and Lysa Arryn wishes to try him for murder. She's called on all the Lords of the Vale to witness this."

"Then that does not give me much time. If Lysa Arryn throws him through the Moon Door, she will seal our fate and invite us to war with the Lannisters," she said worriedly.

"There's no way for us to release Tyrion, unless he requests trial by combat and I suspect he should. However there will be no one here to battle as his champion, and in that case he'll be sent flying without wings."

"Then let us pray that we arrive in time and put a stop to all of this," she said hurriedly and kicked her saddle to put her horse into a fast gallop.

The words of Varys stung through her heart since she left King's Landing as she remembered the very moment where she finally gave into his request. She was betrothed now, promised to marry the dragon who would cement her claim to the Vale.

It felt like she had sold her soul to the Seven Hells.

She had decided that she would keep this arrangement strictly to herself until the time was right to reveal her marriage. She hated the prospect that marriage was the only powerful leverage that women had over this realm. Isabel had seen fathers selling off their daughters in return for more land and power and the numerous unhappy marriages that followed through. And now it sickened her that she had fallen into the very same trap that she had tried to avoid.

But that was the reality she lived in – should her brother still oppose her, her claim would not be secure unless she married and produced an heir to the Arryn line.

Varys was right; she couldn't do this alone.

As they reached to the doors of the Eyrie, Isabel immediately jumped off her horse with Lord Hersy and Ser Tommas following closely behind. The guards, recognizing her were quick to move out of the way while giving her a quick bow. They had simply lost too much time, and she was now worried that Tyrion was already dead.

She stopped in front of the doors leading to the High Halls and took a deep breathe. Looking behind her shoulder, Ser Tommas gave her a nod of support, silently telling her that this was now her moment to shine, and her moment to claim what was truly hers.

She pushed the doors open to a rather large crowd which encircled the Moon Door. Isabel heard clashes and grunts, and she flinched at the sounds as she recognized that a trial by combat had already begun. Nobody had paid much attention to her entrance as everybody was enthralled by the battle that was taking place.

_He cannot die here,_ a voice spoke to her.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out and suddenly feeling like the young girl she was when she was first introduced at court; small, meek and scared. Ser Tommas squeezed her shoulder lightly, as if he had read her mind and she immediately relaxed.

Taking another deep breathe, she let her voice engulf the room. "Stop this at once!"

The clashes of steel slowly dissolved and one by one the heads of the lords and knights of the Vale slowly turned towards her. Holding her head up high and her shoulders back, she moved her way forward until she was in between the two champions.

"You will stop this trial, in the name of your lady," she commanded.

Lysa Arryn jumped up from her chair, eyes wide and fuming with anger. Beside her, Robert looked on with pure curiousity, unaware of the growing tension that was engulfing the room, but he smiled at the sight of his sister, like the naïve child he was.

"You have no authority here, Isabel Arryn," she seethed and looked at the champions, "Continue!"

Before she knew it, she reached out and placed her hand on the swords to prevent the fighting from recommencing. Glancing at the corner of her eye, she saw Tyrion Lannister, standing near the front of the crowd with a slightly perplexed but amused look on his face.

"We will have no trial. You shall put down your swords," she repeated, "Tyrion Lannister is not a prisoner of the Eyrie."

"And what makes you think you can just walk in here and act like you are the rightful heir to your father's titles? Robert is the Lord, and I am his Regent…and you are nothing," she yelled.

It was at that moment she reached into her cloak and presented the King's dispensation, and she could not help by form a triumphant smile on her face.

"By orders of King Robert himself," she explained, "He has issued a dispensation and has recognized me, Isabel Arryn, eldest child of Jon Arryn as the rightful heir and Lady of the Vale."

Lord Nestor Royce came forward and gave a low bow and took the scroll from Isabel to read out loud the contents. As his eyes scanned the document, Isabel's gaze never left her step-mother, as the two women's eyes had locked down to a death stare.

"It is the official seal of the King," Lord Nestor declared to the lords, "He has relinquished Robert Arryn's claim and has named Isabel Arryn as Lady of the Vale and Warden of the East."

Its confirmation was met with murmurs within the room and Isabel decided to break her gaze and looked to the lords for her support. Some frowned and shook her head, while others gave her a nod and acknowledgement.

"Lord Robert is the firstborn son," yelled one lord, "He is the rightful heir!"

"If King Robert recognizes Isabel, then she will have my support!"

"You're only a woman…you cannot lead us!"

The room became quickly divided, with lords and knights yelling over one another, one side supporting Robert Arryn and the other supporting Isabel. As Ser Tommas and her guards struggled to maintain order, Lysa yelled shrieked in a hysterical laughter silencing the room once more.

"You have no idea what you've done now, girl. You've brought civil war to these lands and I will not have you proclaiming yourself as the rightful heir when you're just an imposter," she spat.

"I am the rightful heir," she repeated.

"You are _nobody_! Look at you..you stand there as if you think you can rule the Vale. You think just because you know the ways of court intrigue that you know the way to the hearts and desire of men? Who will follow you? My son is the rightful heir, the rightful lord and the rightful ruler! Your father should have shipped you off to the North when he had the chance. He should have gotten rid of you, just like how he got rid of your mother."

Something within Isabel snapped, and her eyes widened as if the flames of the dark shadows suddenly ignited within her. "You have no right to speak about my mother like that," she slowly seethed.

"Have I touched a nerve, my dear child?" Lysa knowingly taunted.

"My mother was a thousand times more worthy of carrying the Arryn name than _you_. She's worth a thousand times more than you, and she bore a true Arryn heir...not some sickly child on the brink of death. If it wasn't for her death, you wouldn't even be here. You'd be back in the Riverlands...still a maid. From what I hear, no good lord wanted to take you as a wife, but my father needed an alliance and he took pity on you."

"You watch your tongue, girl. I could have it cut out," she threatened.

Her eyes darted to the side of the hall, towards her gaurdsmen who made the slight move towards his sword. However, this was quickly noticed by Ser Tommas and the older knight was even quicker to draw his sword and pointed it at the other knight's neck. Sensing his predicament, he gave an unsure glace at Lysa Arryn before retreating a few steps back and admitting defeat.

"You have no more power here," Isabel said defiantly.

The air in the room remained still and silent, and the tension between the two women hung above the entire hall.

"You would dare to defy the King's orders?" she questioned, and raised the scroll containing the royal seal for all the Lords of the Vale to see.

Lysa's lips quivered and fell back on her seat, silently admitting to herself that she could not go against the king's word. "Do not think for a second that this is over Isabel Arryn," she said, "You have begun a war between us that will bring you to your ruin."

"You forget my lady, it was you who chose war," she reminded her, "I gave you an out, and you refused me."

At a loss for words, Lysa walked down from her seat until she was face to face with Isabel. "I will fight you until my very last breathe," she whispered.

"So be it," she stated, and sealing the women's fate.

Isabel glanced over her shoulder and gave Lord Nestor Royce and Lord Hersy a slight nod. Within a second they called for their men and surrounded her step-mother as well as the Lords of the houses who had voiced their opposition, to prevent any potential bloodshed.

"We will escort the Lady Lysa Arryn and her son, Lord Robert Arryn back to their chambers," she instructed, and it's meaning being understood to the entire room.

"Isabel, they are your family," Catelyn Stark protested, "You cannot confine them like prisoners."

"It is only a temporary measure, I promise," she replied, "...until my step-mother is well-rested."

No one dared to move in the room, but she saw many of the knights had already positioned themselves, ready to draw blood at any given moment. Lysa Arryn looked around, sensing no way out but only to admit defeat for the time-being. She called for her son, and the little lord ran down to hug his mother's right thigh as his big bulgy blue eyes looked up at Isabel.

"Leave now," Isabel commanded, unable to look into her brother's innocent gaze anymore.

As her step-mother and brother left High Hall, a handful of lords and knights from the houses that voice opposition to Isabel's claim stormed out in defiance. As the room cleared out, so did the huge burden that had finally begun to lift off Isabel's shoulders.

"Well, that was certainly entertaining...and I thought my family had problems," Tyrion dryly remarked.

His hands were still chained together, and Isabel gave a quick nod to the guard to release him from his imprisonment. As the heavy metal dropped to the ground, he rubbed his bruised wrists in relief, and gave a quick bow to Isabel in thanks.

"I do apologize for the maltreatment you've received." she said, in a vain apology.

"Isabel, he is still _my_ prisoner," Catelyn interjected, "He tried to _murder _my son!"

"Do you have any solid proof, my Lady?" she asked, "An accusation is one matter, but taking a high lord hostage on empty grounds is another."

"I didn't kill your son," he pleaded again, "Why would I want to kill a mere child? The boy was no threat to me."

"Because he saw something! Something you Lannisters would kill to keep secret!"

"Every family has secrets…to which secret would you be referring to? There's so many of them, I sometimes can't even keep track of all of them," he coolly replied.

"Lady Stark," Isabel interrupted, "It would be in your best interest to release Tyrion for the time being, unless you can acquire more proof. Word has already reach King's Landing of this and Tywin Lannister is on the verge of raiding your father's lands for this offense."

The colour slightly drained from the woman's face. "What has happened?"

"Jamie Lannister and his father is rumoured to have gathered an army of twenty-thousand…when they will attack, no one knows. Your husband has fallen to an injury because the Kingslayer ambushed him on the streets….if you retain Tyrion as your prisoner, then war is certain."

"Ah! So my family has not forgotten about me," he remarked, "I'm glad to see my father fighting for my honour."

"Ned?" Catelyn asked in disbelief, ignoring the dwarf, "What of my daughters? What have you heard?"

"Your daughters are safe and but your husband has not woken yet. Time will only tell," she reassured her, "It is imperative you free Tyrion…we must retain the peace within this realm."

Reluctantly, Lady Catelyn nodded in consent and sat down on the stone bench still in shock that her actions had sparked such outrage. Had she had known she put her daughters and husband in danger, she would have reconsidered apprehending Tyrion at the inn. Now she had openly invited warfare onto the Riverlands, something she did not anticipate.

Taking leave, Tyrion and his sellsword who was acting as his champion made another bow before walking out of the High Hall. Isabel was quick to follow the Lannister out, hoping to catch a private word with him.

"Lannister," she called out.

He turned around and let out a sigh. "What crime have I committed now?"

"None that has come to my attention yet," she replied,

"I must say, Lady Arryn that you were quite remarkable in there…I should caution you on the days that lie ahead of you. The quest for power is not an easy journey."

"So I've been told."

"Perhaps my father underestimated you," he thought out loud, "He thought you would have needed our help to regain your father's titles. He thought your lords would turn you away, and yet you have accomplished the improbable…and you did it all alone."

She gave a humorous smirk. "Perhaps not entirely alone," she replied knowingly.

"I didn't kill your father and I had nothing to do with the Stark boy," he said suddenly.

"I know," she said, "It seems like there are birds and spiders whispering lies into our ears."

"Perhaps," he agreed, "..someone possibly wanting to ignite a war again…to create havoc and chaos in this realm…"

"…and when these lands have been ravaged with war and death, an unknown hero will come in and save the day," she finished for him.

"And I am curious as to who this hero will be," he wondered.

She smiled, but said nothing to suggest anything more. Of all the Lannisters, Tyrion was the only one whom Isabel held any respect for. He recognized the faults of his family though he was adherently loyal to them, and yet Isabel often found Tyrion good company despite his seedy reputation and his habit of visiting the brothels everyday.

"We will supply you with a horse to help you back to the High Road," she offered, "You'll need it…those mountain men…they're ruthless creatures."

"What? No escort party?"

"Don't push your luck Lannister," she warned, "Should I send you with my men…I really can't guarantee you'll make it through the mountains alive."

"Ah…well, then I will better take my chances through the mountains alone, along with Bronn of course."

The sellsword grunted at the sound of his name, but made no more effort in adding to their conversation. As Isabel turned around and had begun to make her way back to the High Hall, she called out over her shoulder, "You owe me, Lannister."

"What do you mean?" he asked humorously.

"A Lannister _always_ pays his debts," she reminded him.

"I think Bronn was doing pretty good before you strolled in and stopped our battle," he challenged.

"And what if he lost? Then I suppose that my timely arrival saved you a deathly journey through the Moon Door," she countered.

"I had full confidence that I would have won,"

"Well, we'll never know now, will we?"

"Then I will not forget your mercy, my Lady," he said annoyingly as he gave his final bow, "A Lannister always pays his debts….and I am in your gratitude and service…should you ever call upon me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Enjoy :) **


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

* * *

><p>The Lords that remained in High Hall patiently waited for Isabel to discuss their next steps in ensuring her succession. Most murmured their worries whether a civil war would break out, while others began to suggest removing Lysa Arryn and her son from the Vale for the time being. Robert Arryn, though still a boy of six would soon meet suitable age where he would be sent off to be fostered at another noble house elsewhere in the realm.<p>

But everybody knew that was unlikely as the mother and son were inseparable.

"Now that the boy and his mother are gone, we can now focus on more pressing matters," Lord Belmore suggested.

Lord Benedar Belmore was an aging man of nearly sixty-five and one of Jon Arryn's closest advisors and friends. Along with Lord Nestor Royce, the two men had helped rule the Vale in Jon Arryn's name while he was away in King's Landing. Both men knew what it took to rule, and neither of them had hope in Jon Arryn's youngest child, nor his young wife.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself Benedar," said Lord Nestor, "things are just getting heated up. We must ensure that Lysa will not plot to overthrow Isabel anytime soon."

"What do you suggest then?"

"We'll have to keep a staunch eye on them. All letters will be intercepted, we'll place some of our own men in her household to monitor them, as well as finding an appropriate tutor for the young lord and rid him of his mother's influence," explained Lord Nestor.

"You think she will act soon?"

"Benedar, we've both around too long to not take these precautions. Isabel's hold of her father's throne is still green…you and I and perhaps Lord Hersy are some of her strongest supporters, but that is simply not enough. Half these lords in High Hall are only here out of pure curiousity as to what Isabel Arryn can prove…they do not have full faith in her just yet. One wrong move on her part, and they'll be flying back to support her brother."

"Then we must ensure that Isabel can rule competently and gain support of all her lords."

"Exactly," agreed Lord Nestor, "Right now… most of these Lords are still unsure whether she'll be around for long. There are already rumours that the Ser Harrold Hardyng has his eyes already on the throne…he is after all next in line, should Robert Arryn die."

"And unless Isabel marries and secures an heir…her claim will be met with challenge and opposition," Lord Benedar concluded.

The former steward nodded his head in agreement. "A marriage between Hardyng and Isabel would gain much favour within the Valemen, a better choice than any foreign marriage."

"I wonder if the Lady would agree."

"She'll have to…if she wishes to rule in peace and without objection."

"There are whispers Nestor as of late…I've heard that she still corresponds with that Stark boy, and our intelligence suspects she once corresponded with a proposal from the Lannisters. If that's the case, we must make haste and ensure that the Lady Isabel makes an appropriate choice for a husband."

"Don't listen to rumours Benedar…they're nothing but gossips and whispers from servants and maids. There's no doubt that she'll be met with suitors from all over the realm…with her titles, she has one of the largest dowries that any house will want their greedy hands on. And our job, my old friend is to ensure that whoever her husband will be, will place the interest of our lands and people above their own."

"Perhaps the Lady Isabel will want to have her own input," suggested Lord Benedar, "After all it will be her marriage bed."

"And these are our lands," he objected, "This is the price you pay when you wish to rule…her life is no longer hers to control anymore."

* * *

><p>Lady Catelyn Stark was thoroughly disappointed that she had failed to avenge Bran's accident. She was so sure that Tyrion Lannister was responsible for her son's misfortune, and it pained her to see him walk out as an innocent man. There was little proof available that would convince Isabel that he was the one who hired the assassin, she was left with no choice but to release him. Her actions now brought war onto her family's house, and instead of returning home to Winterfell to be with her son, she now felt a sense of strong duty to ride to her father's men and engage with the lions.<p>

And yet she knew her father's bannermen were no match against Tywin's armies. Her father, Hoster Tully was plagued with sickness for the last few years and in here eye could not be the strong warrior that his men needed. Even if House Tully were able to call their bannermen. including the questionable House Frey, Tywin Lannister would still prove too strong for them.

Her son Robb would call on his father's bannermen to support her house, she was sure in her mind. However, she did not want her son to see battle and war so soon. Catelyn wanted her children safe, but knew deep down in her heart that Robb Stark was as stubborn as his father and would meet the Lannisters head on.

_What have I done? I have put my entire family in danger…Ned, my love...I wish you were here with me._

She saw Isabel Arryn near the end of the hall, and now made her way back to the High Hall where her lords were waiting. Catleyn Stark took this opportunity to observe and study the younger woman, whose long dark blue dress draped against her womanly curves and floated to the ground. The fabrics draped around her, it almost looked like Isabel was gliding above the stone floor. Catelyn noticed the dark circles in her eyes, making her wonder if the young girl had gotten any decent sleep at all in the last few days. Her dark hair was held loosely in a braid, but the wind had let loose most of her hair, and it now flow freely past her shoulders. Her eyes were dark green, much like her fathers but her lips, as soft, pink and delicate like her mother's, Rowena Arryn.

She did not know Rowena Arryn well, but had met her the few times she had come to visit Winterfell when Isabel Arryn and Robb Stark were will betrothed. She had the presence of a dove, Catelyn remembered, having the grace and presence of a true noble lady. She remembered her being a loving mother, doting on Isabel every chance she could get and grew sympathy for her when she had learned the Rowena had passed away from a cold chill. Isabel was barely twelve, and within the next year her father had remarried to her sister, Lysa in hopes of giving Isabel another mother figure to look up to. No one had expected their relationship would end of cold and full of hatred.

"Isabel," she called out.

A small smile reached the younger woman's face, softening the sharp features and dark eyes of the Arryn girl. "I am very sorry that you did not have the justice you wished…but please understand that there are more dangerous games at stake right now," she explained.

"Is it true then? Tywin Lannister will invade the Riverlands?" she asked worriedly.

"We released Tyrion, which I hope will revert any further bloodshed," Isabel answered honestly, "But we all know all too tell what Tywin Lannister is like…returning his son won't be good enough for him."

"Then war is inevitable?"

"Not inevitable…but most likely probable. Yet there's always room for negotiation…King Robert demands peace and I have been tasked to mediate this conflict."

"Y-you?" Catelyn asked in disbelief.

"Consider it my first test."

"Isabel," Catleyn hesitantly began, "…if war cannot be avoided…where will you stand? I know you have not been on best of terms with my sister, but I must ask if you would call your bannermen to aide our house should it come to that. Please…for the love you bear for my son, for the love your father bore for my husband…for your brother who shares the same blood as my family."

Isabel grabbed her hands and squeezed them tight to calm her nerves. "My Lady, this is…not a decision I can make without the counsel of my lords and bannermen," she replied carefully, "No one wishes to engage in a war like this…but should it come to such a decision, we will have to weigh all our options."

It was neither a rejection nor a promise, for the coming days were uncertain. She was under strict orders to bring peace by King Robert, and also under orders by Varys to not interfere any further should war unfold. It was a difficult position to be in, and she would have to play all sides to avoid suspicion, but was a position that she had willingly chose.

"Do I have your word then, Isabel that you will help us?" Catelyn asked hopefully.

"I can promise you, my Lady…to mitigate this conflict to the best of my ability, for the good of the realm."

* * *

><p>Isabel took a seat at the end of stone table in the private council room in the Sky Tower, where her private chambers were located. Lord Nestor Royce was quick to appoint a council, mainly made of her strongest supporters shortly before her arrival in the event that she had regained her throne. Made of five of the most powerful houses in the Vale, Isabel now needed to execute her next moves and convince the lords of Houses Royce, Belmore, Hardyng, Redfort and Royce of Runestone to support her in these dark and testing times.<p>

"We will control Lysa Arryn and monitor her every movement," explained Lord Nestor, "There's no doubt in my mind that she'll be plotting to put her son back on the throne."

"The only way we can control Lysa is if we threaten her with Robert," added Lord Hersy, "…to ensure good behaviour of course. Robert Arryn is near the age to be fostered…any suggestion by this council to remove him from his mother may keep Lysa Arryn from doing anything rash."

"So you suggest that we send him away?"

"Not yet, of course…but should she try anything, we can use her son against her," Ser Harrold Hardyng answered.

"Considering that these days ahead will require my full attention, I cannot afford to battle two different wars," Isabel said truthfully, "Keep your eyes on her Lord Nestor. I have a feeling she will be seeking outside help. Track the ravens that come from King's Landing and Riverrun."

He bowed his head in consent. "As you wish, my Lady."

"My Lady," began Lord Belmore, "Your throne is still not yet secure. Many of the lords are still uncertain whether you are fit to rule. It would ease their mind and win their support if you would marry and produce an heir as soon as possible."

Isabel tightened her lips in annoyance, but maintained a straight composure. "And what do you suggest, Lord Belmore? Whom shall I marry? Which husband should I take to ease the minds of my lords?"

Lord Nestor cleared his throat. "A Valemen would be the most appropriate choice, but these matters can be taken slowly. We will come up with a list of amiable suitors for your choosing."

"Oh!" she replied amusingly, "Tell me Lord Nestor, do you intend share my wedding night as well?"

Her comment earned a low and quiet chuckle across the table as Lord Nestor Royce slightly blushed.

"There will no more talk of marriage, " she defiantly stated, "If my lords thinks I cannot rule in my own conscience, then I will simply prove them wrong."

"Yes, my Lady," they all murmured in response.

"The impending war between the Lannisters and the Starks must be brought to a peaceful resolution," she began, "I have decided to ride into Tywin's camp to convince him to retreat his army."

"My Lady," Lord Nestor called out, "That is not the wisest decision! You walk into dangerous territory."

"Releasing his son does not guarantee peace," she explained, "I must seek his audience in person to ensure he will retreat…after a fruitful apology on my part."

"If the king himself cannot control him, what makes you think you can? My lady, this is a most ill-thought decision…you say you do not want to engage in war, yet you openly walk into it by riding into his army!"

"I have to try," she pleaded in exhaustion, 'The king has ordered me to keep the peace. With Ned Stark still not recovered, he has no one to turn to."

"What are you trying to prove Isabel?" Lord Hersy asked, "If this is some mission to prove to the realm that you are capable of ruling, then you've gone over your head. Not even the great houses can convince Tywin Lannister to step down from war."

"And what if I'm trying to prove myself worthy?" she snapped, "You have said yourself that the Lords of the Vale are still unsure of my rule. If they think me weak, then I will show them my strength."

"My Lady, you run the risk of being taken hostage!" Lord Nestor Royce yelled, "You have not yet secured your throne and you already throw yourself in certain death."

"And the King can revoke his dispensation if I fail to complete this task! His support came with a price as do all alliances. Lord Nestor, you accuse me of putting myself in danger. But if it means winning favour in the name of the King and earning his support, then so be it. I cannot keep the Vale without the King's support."

"We can find another way," he reasoned, "The King's dispensation made it easy to rid of Lysa for now, but should you rule these coming days with fair judgment and honour, then you will win over the lords. A king's dispensation should no longer matter for the lords will put their trust and faith in you."

"And how do you propose I gain faith and loyalty to my lords?" she asked, "Marriage? Producing an heir? Is that really the best solution? Would you have me breeding children instead of fighting wars?"

The lords fell silent, sensing her growing anger and frustration. Lord Nestor led out a heavy sigh as he put his hand over his mouth to hide the frown that was forming on his face. They had greatly underestimated her strength, as they had imagined that Isabel would be fairly easily to rule over. They thought she would be as docile and sweet like Rowena Arryn. Instead, they recognized the fire and strength that her father had – something that they greatly admired, and also feared.

"My father once defied a king and faced a certain death. Half his lords supported his enemy and thought him unfit to rule. But he fought, and he won because he believed his actions were for the good of the realm. And like my father, I intend to do the same thing….I do not intend to fail," she explained.

"Seven hells, then we will support you!" Lord Hersy roared out as he slammed his hand on the table, "I see fire in you girl that reminds me of Jon in our younger days."

"Lord Hersy, I rather think it's very bold of you to support our young Lady into such a dangerous mission," warned Lord Horton Redfort, of House Redfort.

"I suggest we rather support the Lady Arryn than hinder her. I admit, it is dangerous but anything we say will only convince her even further to pursue this," he explained.

"Thank you Lord Hersy," she said graciously.

"What if you do not return?" Lord Nestor asked.

"I do not intend to die, my Lords," she reassured her. "Lord Nestor, you were my father's steward when he was Hand of the King. Do I have your faith and ask you to resume responsibility as Steward of the Vale should I not be able to fulfill my duties?"

"It would be an honour, my Lady."

"Then it is settled," she said in finality, "I will cross the Riverlands and ride into the Lannister camp with one thousand men to ease the minds of my lords. Should anything happen to me…then you are to ride and join the armies with Riverrun should your consciences feel that the Vale is no longer safe from war."

It was the most dangerous journey she has yet to make, but she needed to try to avert this war. She needed to prove herself that she was a capable leader and not some mere pawn in this game.

_I will not fail,_ she told herself.

She would prove to the Seven Kingdoms that Isabel Arryn could rule in her own name.

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><p><strong>AN:** **Enjoy :)...I do apologize for everybody waiting for that BIG reunion between Robb and Isabel (Yes..they WILL reunite!). All I can say is, please be patient and wait! It's coming.!**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

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><p><em>They sat beside each other in separate chairs in front of the roaring fire pit, watching the sun set and waiting for the stars to come out from the balcony of the Hand's Tower. It was a traditional ritual that Jon Arryn and his daughter would do when every full moon approached. It was a time for the father and daughter to bond due to Jon Arryn's growing responsibilities as Hand of the King, which often left Isabel alone in the Red Keep.<em>

_Jon, often times felt guilty at leaving both his children without proper company. Though Robert had his mother to dote on, he felt like his son should not be absent of a father figure. His eldest daughter, Isabel had recently been formally introduced to court and had been offered to be a lady-in-waiting in the Queen's household. Though a generous offer, he did not want her to tend to the Queen because it meant that he would see very little of her._

_Since her mother died, he had made a special effort to ensure her well-being._

"_Who was that man you were speaking in such close proximity today?" he asked._

"_The eldest son of the Prince of Dorne, He is the strangest man I've ever met...I really can't see why all the ladies at court think he is so likable," she replied._

"_I heard that they arrived in King's Landing a few days prior…I had not been given the chance to seek a private audience. Tell me…did he show any interest in you? Has he sought your company more than once?" he asked hesitantly._

"_Father!" she replied in disbelief._

"_Isabel, I know you are at that age to be courted now. With your betrothal to Robb Stark now broken, you will have new suitors that will seek your hand in marriage. Strange and foreign men will come to seek your favour, whether you'll want their attention or not." he explained._

"_They can try," she sarcastically replied and gave her father a devilish smirk, revealing her growing rebellious nature that she found recently to be quite liberating. She had made every effort to return to her normal life since cutting of all contact with Robb Stark. She smiled harder, laughed more and even introduced herself in court. She did everything she could to try and fill the small void in her heart, but found little solace in the frivolous things around her. _

_The only motivation she had in life, was to make her father proud and prove her own worth to him._

"_Isabel," he said sternly._

"_He was a total brute anyways," she said coolly._

"_You will have to marry one day," he said earnestly, "I sincerely hope you know that I do want to see grandchildren in my future."_

_She let out a warm laugh that did not quite meet her eyes, but she leaped over from her chair to give her father an affectionate kiss on his brow. "In time, my dear father…but I must confess you might be disappointed with me."_

_He gave her a long stare as if he was trying to scold her, but found himself laughing at her, unable to take their conversation seriously anymore. "You remind me so much of your mother. I see glimpses of her when you smile, when you cry, when you laugh."_

"_Do you miss her?" she asked._

_His smile faltered as a passing moment of sadness swept through his body. "Dearly," he said truthfully._

"_I miss her everyday," she whispered to herself._

_Jon stroked his daughter's cheek and swiped his thumb across her skin to rid of the single tear that fell from her dark lashes. "This past year has been difficult for you, my sweet daughter. I am truly sorry for the heartache I put you through. My marriage to Lysa must not have been easy for you to accept…but you needed a mother…and the Vale needed an alliance. My greatest hope is that you will warm up to your step-mother and become a loving sister to your baby brother."_

"_You know that she and I simply do not get along," she explained._

"_She is family now," he scolded, "I expect you to treat them with the utmost respect and adoration."_

"_That woman does not like me," she said defiantly._

"_Isabel Arryn," he commanded._

_Letting out a huge sigh, she caved in to her father's request. "I promise," she said, "I will treat my step-mother and brother as if their were my own kin…as long the same affection is returned to me."_

* * *

><p>The journey across the Riverlands was far more dangerous than Isabel had thought. Even though she rode across Westeros with one thousand men, at times she felt exposed and vulnerable to attack. With word that the Lannister army now rode to Riverrun, she did not feel safe travelling on King's Road. They rode through burning villages and saw the numerous displaced villagers that were now travelling south, in hopes to find refuge and safety.<p>

The ravens were sent ahead of her party to inform the Lannister camp of their arrival and outlined that her visit was on behalf of the King Robert and as such, she would have the guest right and be free from harm. Her men, she would explain, were to protect her party from any attack while travelling through the Riverlands.

It was a diplomatic mission for peace – even Tywin Lannister could not turn her away.

She watched the red banners that bore the roaring lion emerge in the distant horizon as they approached the Lannister camp. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a small party was now riding towards her presumably to meet and escort her for the duration of her journey.

Her lords were not happy with her decision, but they agreed to provide her the necessary resources. She saw their reason and worry, yet deep down in her heart she knew she had to do this. She needed to prove to herself that she had the strength to face fear head-on and not cower, though she knew of the dangerous risk she brought upon her shoulders. But she could not see any other way to prove to her lords that she was just as capable as her father. Jon Arryn once defied a king and rose to rebellion, knowing full well the risks and consequences it had. Why couldn't her lords put the same trust and faith in Isabel?

Besides, she wasn't starting a war – she was very damn well trying to stop it.

Riding into the Lannister camp made her slightly uncomfortable as the eyes of their bannermen and knights suspiciously looked at their party, unsure of her reason for visit. She saw that some of the knights had unsheathed their swords, ready to attack if any of the Valemen chose to follow suit. She gripped her reins even tighter; suddenly aware of the dangerous position she had willingly placed herself in.

As they arrived in front of Tywin Lannister's tent, the Lannister knight who was tasked to escort said nothing to her party and impatiently waited for her to unsaddle her horse. He gave her a low grunt before he moved to the side to allow her to pass to speak with his lord. Isabel motioned forward, but immediately noticed that he had stopped Ser Tommas from proceeding. Stopping she turned around and stared curiously at the Lannister knight.

"Not him," he roughly instructed.

She hesitantly proceeded, but not before she gave a worry glance to her sworn knight. He gave her a silent nod of reassurance, and gestured her to carry on.

The two Lannister brothers, Tywin and Kevan sat on either end of the table conversing over a battle map when Isabel entered. Neither man had noticed her, and it was only until she coughed to break the silence did Ser Kevan Lannister, the younger of the two turned towards her. He stood up and gave a respectable bow, while Tywin only nodded his head to her.

"My Lords," she began and curtseyed, "I thank you for granting me such an audience in these circumstances."

"You ride through pillaged lands to speak to us," Ser Kevan Lannister remarked, "A most dangerous and admirable feat. Your business with us must be urgent then."

"It is," she stated, "But I think my Lord Tywin Lannister already knows why I am standing here."

His face gave no emotions away, making it difficult for Isabel to read him. He was tall and thin, and his face chiseled and cold as the years of war within politics and swords had greatly worn him down. Isabel barely knew him, but his reputation was infamous throughout the realm.

And his reputation made Isabel slightly nervous.

"A most foolish quest that your king has sent you on," he mockingly remarked.

"The quest for peace is not foolish, my Lord, but is a quest that most men will not undertake for it is only foolish in their eyes because it entails the absence of war; the very thing that most men seek for glory and power," she explained.

"You seemed to already have answered your own question then."

"Most men fail to see that some wars are not fought with swords."

"You have nothing to offer me," he challenged, "this is not your war girl. Take my advice and leave while you still can."

"Your feud with the Starks will send this entire realm into war. You are correct, my Lord…this is not my war. But your war will spread like a disease and infect the innocent like the plague it is. The King demands a peaceful resolution."

"How I defend my family's honour is not of the king's business!" he roared.

"You don't have to start a war to avenge your honour. There are other ways to seek vengeance. "

"And become a little shrewd spider like yourself? Tell me, Lady Isabel Arryn…how did you persuade the King to grant you a dispensation when he had publicly denied you only a few days prior? Who did you spread your legs for?"

The insult felt like a punch to the face, and left Isabel completely speechless. She clenched her fists with such ferocity that she had felt her nails dig deep into her skin in an effort not to slap Tywin Lannister across his face.

"Not every woman has to sell her body for power," she seethed.

"And yet all women do."

"I did not come here for you to insult my honour, my Lord."

"And why did you come here?" he roughly asked. "Asking for peace? Asking me to stop my men from harming that Stark boy of yours? And why would I grant you such a favour?"

"You know of my reasons. I come here on behalf of the king…he orders you to stop this war before it escalates any further."

"I don't believe the king has anymore say in this."

He took a letter from the table and handed it over to her. "I don't think the king is going to be around for much longer."

She unfolded the parchment and skimmed over its contents and a dark unsettled feeling dropped to the pit of her stomach. "W..when did you receive this?" she hesitantly asked.

"This morning, before your arrival," he explained. "A hunting accident…a rather serious injury, so I'm told. The Grand Maester has already begun to administer the milk of poppy."

She immediately understood his meaning and she tensed up, slowly feeling the sense of defeat. If Robert Baratheon died, then Joffrey would succeed into the throne. With his grandson sitting on the Iron Throne, this war could not be stopped. On the contrary, Joffrey Baratheon would support the Lannisters and have the Starks and Tullys submit to defeat.

It was a lost battle, and Isabel had unknowingly walked into the lion's mouth. Tywin Lannister merely smirked at her, before retrieving the letter and placing it back on the table. He had already known this, and still allowed Isabel to plead her case, making a fool out of herself.

"I suppose there is no room for negotiation. It seems like we have wasted each other's time," she said in defeat, having the sudden loss for words.

"Perhaps not an entire waste of our time," Ser Kevan Lannister added.

"What more is there to say between us, Ser Kevan?"

"What my dear brother means, my Lady…you are not a foolish woman. I see the hunger for power in your eyes. This war would be advantageous to your cause in the Vale. Allying yourself with the stronger side would be the wisest choice."

"You offer me another alliance, when I have already given you my answer?"

"The game has changed, Lady Isabel – your king is dying, and war is already upon us. How will you comfort your lords when you tell them their king is dead? Who will support you now?"

She recognized his threat and she narrowed her eyes at him. With Joffrey on the throne, he could easily denounce her claims and give her brother his inheritance, and she would lose many of the support she had worked so hard to gain.

"The game has changed indeed," she agreed, "but so have the rules…and the players. You greatly underestimate my ability to battle. I may not have the strength or ferocity of a lion, but I can strike my enemies from above, underneath the darkness of shadows."

"Powerful words for someone who pretends to know the intricacies of war," he mused, "Is this your decision then, Lady Isabel? Instead of friendship, you offer me animosity?"

"I offer you nothing," she clarified.

"So be it."

Before she realized it, two guards roughly grabbed each of her forearms, causing her to wrestle and struggled out of their grips. Their strength proved to much for her, and their grip only tightened around her skin, making her yell in pain.

"Let me go!" she yelled, "What is the meaning of this?"

"The game has changed," he said, echoing her words, "Did you foolishly think I'd let you leave so you can go running back to that wolf lover of yours? You ask to play with men during times of war? Then I shall gladly show you what war is truly like. There _are_ no rules during times of war. There is no honour and there is no justice. You ride into my camp with one thousand men, and that is a sizable threat in my eyes. You're smart Lady Isabel…but you're not that smart."

"Are you to execute to me then? For threatening you?"

"You will be my _honoured_ guest here, for the time being…to ensure good behaviour from your lords and from Robb Stark. You will then accompany Tyrion Lannister back to King's Landing, where you will remain until you are given leave to return home."

"And my men?"

"I should kill them all."

Before giving her a chance to say anything more, he motioned for his guards to take her away. She squirmed and resisted as they dragged her out of the tent, suddenly becoming afraid that Tywin would try to end her own life. Her screams and pleas were left on empty ears, as no one would help her.

_Father, what I have done?_

* * *

><p>The riders came arrived underneath the darkness of night to Moat's Cailin, seeking Robb Stark's audience. The young wolf had called his father's bannermen to aide his mother's house when the ravens came announcing that Riverrun had been taken by an army led by Ser Jamie Lannister. It didn't take long for Robb to call his bannermen, and march south towards the Riverlands.<p>

The riders did not bear any sigils that he could recognize and when Robb had asked who had sent them, they had declined to give him their names – and this did not sit well with Robb at all.

He unfolded the letter and his eyes scanned its contents and almost immediately he threw the letter on the ground and grabbed the rider's cloak and shook him.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

The mysterious man refused to answer which only caused Robb's anger to grow. He unsheathed a dagger and pointed it at the man's throat and repeated his question. "Answer me now, or I will show no mercy to you."

Greywind, Robb's direwolf sensing the tension in the air, immediately appeared at the young wolf's side and gave the rider a dangerous and low growl. It was at the sight of the great direwolf that the rider gave in.

"Courtesy of the Lannisters….my Lord," he whispered.

He shoved the rider to the floor, disgusted at the sound of the lion's name. He heard footsteps in the distance, and could guess it was Lord Jon Umber and Lord Roose Bolton who had come to see what commotion was disrupting the night.

"What is it, my Lord?" asked Lord Jon Umber.

"A Lannister messenger," he spat.

"Then we should kill him. He's no doubt here to spy on our army," stated Lord Bolton.

"No," Robb objected, "He will live…and he will tell his master that the wolves are coming for him."

The guards roughly shoved the rider back to the gates, with Greywind closely following to ensure that they would leave and not come back. After making sure that the Lannister scout was no longer in their sight, Robb reached down the picked up the crumpled letter off the floor and handed it to Lord Jon Umber.

"Why would Lady Isabel Arryn write a letter and have the Lannisters deliver it for her?"

"Perhaps she has allied herself with them," Lord Jon Umber wondered.

"Impossible. She would never do that. They must have gotten to her…they must have threatened her."

"The letter doesn't indicate she is in any danger, my Lord. She claims they are treating her as an honored guest and she is perfectly safe from danger."

"It still doesn't explain why she rode into their camp, and now has decided to stay there. She has no reason to be there. Something is wrong, I just know it," he worriedly said.

"Have you written to the Lady recently? Did she mention anything to suggest an alliance with the Lannisters?"

Their letters came less frequently ever since his father was injured. Everything was unfolding so fast between them, that he had seemingly forgot to write to her. The last letter he had received was just before he left Winterfell, and she had told him that she was returning to the Vale and was not likely to ever to return to King's Landing in the near future.

_Where are you Isabel?_

"She had personal matters to attend to at home," he explained. "She's supposed to be at the Eyrie."

"Then, someone is lying," Lord Bolton suggested, "Either the Lannisters are trying to undermine you, or Lady Isabel Aryyn is playing two sides to this war. Neither should be trusted…it would be wise to ignore this altogether."

Robb took a deep breathe and closed his eyes for a moment. He refused to believe that Isabel would betray him. He knew that she would never side with the Lannisters, no matter what kind of alliance they would offer her. The rider, the letter…it was all suspicious and his gut instinct made him think that Isabel was in danger and Tywin Lannister was threatening him with her life.

"We will write to our friends at the Eyrie…to confirm the legitimacy of this letter. I do not believe in an instant that Lady Isabel would strike a friendship with the Lannisters."

"She's lived in the King's Landing for nearly her entire life," Lord Bolton commented, "You can't trust those southerners. Their hearts are as black as ink and souls as dark as death."

"Careful, my Lord," whispered Lord Jon Umber, "You cannot let your emotions cloud your judgment…especially in times of war. Losing a war over a woman is not the wisest thing to do."

"And what if she's really in danger? Then I would have ignored a warning and send her to her death?"

"It's a sacrifice that has to be made. This is not worth fretting over – it's exactly what Tywin wants you to do. You cannot let him have the upper hand. He's already winning…he's besieged Riverrun and Ser Jamie now rides north towards the Twins. We need to focus on stopping his army, and stop worrying about these frivolous things. Let the Vale handle this matter; it is not our concern. If they come to us, then so be it. We'd double our men practically overnight…but if they choose to settle this matter privately, then we will not push them. We don't need to be fighting another family."

"Besides," Lord Bolton added, "The Vale stands divided and broken. We don't need anymore soldiers who don't know who to pledge their house and allegiance to. The last thing we need in our army is internal strife."

His heart was telling him to dig for the truth and make sure she was okay, but his head was agreeing with his Northern Lords. They were right – there were too many things at stake and he needed to focus in leading his army.

_Sacrifices must be made,_ the wind whispered in the air.

If this was the right thing to do, then why did feel so wrong?

He felt death looming in the air, hovering above their heads as if it was patiently choosing which life to take. _Winter is coming¸_ he heard his father whisper.

But whose life will be taken?

"I will not let those lions think I cannot fight my own battles," he found himself saying. "We continue to march south and meet their armies head on. So be it, let us seal our fates in this war then."

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><p><em><strong>AN: **_**Enjoy :)**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17:

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><p>She was alone and surrounded by enemies over the following days. Isabel was confined to a tent that had two guards stationed outside at all times, making it impossible for her to escape. Even if she tried, there was no way that she could have escaped undetected. The whereabouts of her men were unknown, and Ser Tommas was no where to be seen. Even if she managed the impossible and evaded the Lannister guards, she was sure she would not last the night in the open fields of the Riverlands where the rumoured Brotherhood now ravaged civilians and soldiers alike.<p>

So she sat and she waited like a lame lamb. Tywin Lannister had forbid her from sending any ravens, save for two instructed letters – one to the Eyrie, informing her lords of her well-being, and the other to Robb Stark and his army.

_What have I done?_

It was a stupid decision coming here, and she mentally yelled at herself for being so stubborn in her ways. She _knew_ the danger, and yet her arrogance had willfully blinded her to recognize the true danger in her actions.

She had wanted so badly to prove her worth, she had willingly fed herself to the lions – and now they had her by the throat.

No one would give her any answers in the camp, and the only time she received company was a page boy who gave her food and water everyday. Tywin and his brother, Ser Kevan had not visited her and she was left clueless of the world around her.

Her stomach curled at the thought of returning to King's Landing, as she was now forced to head back into the fighting pits. Lord Varys, Petyr Baelish, Cersei Lannister….they'll all pull her from different directions in an attempt to use her for their own means. It was a tiresome game that she no longer wanted to play. She thought her time was done – she had the Vale in her hands, but her arrogance and greed had begged her to continue to play this dangerous game.

And now she would pay the price.

The tent of the flap lifted and she immediately stood up to see who it was. "I demand to be released back to the Vale at once. I have done nothing wrong to be deserved this treatment," she yelled.

"Be grateful…your lucky my father didn't kill you on the spot, or give you to the knights," he replied.

Tyrion Lannister was now dressed in his red leather armour, and standing tall and proud, a most ironic scene in Isabel eyes. Only days earlier was he the prisoner, and she herself who yielded the power.

"What is going on?" she asked in defeat, "Nobody is telling me anything."

He looked somberly at her, and his eyes glanced at the floor before he looked up again. "The king is dead."

She stepped back a few times, as she tried to balance herself. _The king is dead._ Four little words that weighed so heavy on her heart. _The king is dead._

"He ca-cannot…" she whispered, but could not find her voice to finish her sentence.

"You are to return to King's Landing immediately," he instructed.

"Have you heard anything about Ned Stark? Is he alive?" she asked, wondering what his condition was since she last saw him.

"That's…partially the reason why my father has decided to send you back at once. It appears that Ned Stark, has denounced my young nephew as the rightful heir. My sister has placed him under arrest under charges of treason. I'm told it was quite the showdown when it happened. With the Hand now disposed, my father believes that your presence back at court will help dissolve some tension. Let's be honest my Lady, you're the only one who can control Varys and Baelish. We need you there."

"No one can control them," she bitterly spat.

She covered her face on her hands, letting the information sink in. Her mind raced to Sansa and Arya Stark, and to Lord Varys and Petyr Baelish.

_I will take as many lives as it takes,_ a sinister voice whispered in her head.

This was her fault, she told herself. None of this would have happened if only she had the courage and honour to speak out against Varys and not give into his devilish ways.

"Robb Stark marches south, I assume then. To avenge his father's honour.," she found herself saying.

"He's crossed the Twins, and makes his way down to meet us. We are to ride out in the morning to meet his army. He's only a green boy who still plays with wooden swords. It's hardly a fair match, in my opinion. If and when he joins forces with the Tullys, my father will still crush them."

"Then you underestimate your enemies my Lord, a most foolish thing to overlook."

"No seasoned warrior would follow the young wolf into battle."

"No seasoned warrior would follow a woman into battle, and yet here I am in the middle of all this."

"I do not see an army behind you, Lady Isabel."

"Then I will ask you to wait until you see the houses of the Vale ride from the horizon to meet your father, and then you will meet the army that I command."

"A bold statement for someone who is currently a prisoner in my camp," he dryly commented.

"It is a promise you will meet for the offence you and your family have committed against me, and this realm. You Lannisters have plunged this country into war."

"I do believe it was Lady Catelyn Stark who started of all this, when she decided to ambush me at Crossroads Inn. My family is innocent of this mess."

"Then are you truly blinded by your own arrogance," she commented.

"If my arrogance allows me to be proud of my family, then I apologize for the offence. Though, I would say we all are then guilty of that fault."

"Tyrion…" she pleaded warily, "What of my men?"

He paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. He knew they had all been sent to die, with some of the lords and knights of the noble houses kept prisoner for good measure. They would not be given an execution's death, however. Even his own father could recognize that would be a waste of some good soldiers. No, Tywin would use them in his war plans; a diversion, or bait to draw his enemies out. Either way, the Valemen Isabel brought with her was sure to meet their deaths.

"There is no mercy in war," he simply stated.

"Ser Tommas?" she asked hesitantly.

"Don't worry…your knight is safe for the time being. But I cannot say the same for the others."

She closed her eyes. "I have just sent one thousand men to their deaths then."

"A small price to pay. Be grateful it was their lives and not yours."

"Is that what you tell yourself at night before you sleep? A thousand lives for your own? Are our lives worthy of such a sacrifice?"

"Why do you think wars are started? Thousands die for the advancement of one great individual. They die because they love us. History remembers the victors; it does not speak of the foot soldiers that lie dead in the ground. History remembers the kings, not the common people. It is just the way it is…how it's always been, how it always will be. Thousands will die for you, their blood spilled for you. And in return, we continue to fight for their sacrifice, because as soon as we give up, their lives will have meant nothing."

"It's not fair," she whispered.

"War is not fair, Lady Isabel. It is a gruesome and nasty thing, and you better get used to it. The ultimate sacrifice must be made if you want to keep your head and win this war."

"Have I not made enough sacrifices? What more must I give?"

"Everything you have. Everything you hold dear. Your fears, your dreams, your hopes. You must already think yourself as dead, so your fears will not hold you back. Only then can you attain all that you desire."

_Power corrupts the soul,_ the voice whispered in her head.

"All this…all in the name for power," she said bitterly, "We war for the most obscure idea created by men. A most seductive illusion that has entrapped us in her beauty."

"And what a beautiful thing she is."

* * *

><p>King's Landing was in chaos when word broke out that the Hand of the King was arrested for treason. Their king was dead, and the country was already at war. Hundreds of villagers from the Riverlands had begun to flock the city, congesting the streets and creating havoc for the City Watch.<p>

Chaos was quickly unfolding and all Petyr Baelish could do was smile as he looked out to the city as he stood along the castle's walls.

Ned Stark was a fool to have given away his most powerful tool against the Lannisters. If he was anything like a shrew politician, he could have used the Lannister's secret to his advantage. But he was too honourable – and honour never kept anyone alive in King's Landing.

And he certainly wasn't going to share Ned Stark's fate.

No, Petyr Baelish only looked out for himself, especially in times of war. It was the only way to survive, and the only way to win.

He proceeded to walk back towards the castle, when he was stopped by Lord Varys who was hiding in the shadows like the little spider he was.

"Our little bird returns to us," Lord Varys chimed in.

"Lady Isabel?" he asked in surprise.

"It may seem that she ran into a little trouble while pursuing Robert's mission for peace. Taken hostage by the Lannisters, and now they send her back into their lion's den, where they hope she dare not run away."

"It was an ambitious endeavor, but a foolish one," he commented, "Women do not know the ways of men's heart. It is not so easily done to persuade a man to stop fighting one another."

"She has what neither of us has then," he observed, "Hope."

"Hope for what? Peace? Peace is but a concept conceived by women and men with weak hearts who are too afraid to face the harsh realities that we create for ourselves. We've always been at war, since the beginning of the First Men, and we always will until this world has ceased to exist."

Varys gave a knowing smile, "Hope is but a distant dream where all men wish to have. Power, love, money, land. Our dreams exist only to fuel our hopes to achieve the unattainable."

"And now I wonder what your hopes and dreams are, Lord Varys."

"I have none, my Lord. I've given my life to the realm. I have no ambitions, no desires, and no dreams. I am but a humble servant to the Iron Throne."

"And yet you scheme and plot like any other man. You pull and push these nobles to your liking. You mean to tell me that all you do is not to your own advantage? Its so tempting, is it not? You know all the little secrets. You can easily bring down the Iron Throne and claim it for yourself."

"As can you, and yet we choose to remain on the sides and keep our heads down."

"I simply wait until the time is right to strike."

"As do I, Lord Baelish…..as do I."

* * *

><p>Isabel laid in her makeshift bed and stared out onto the floor, unable to sleep, unable to blink and unable to move. Her eyes remained wide open, still shocked about all the events that were unfolding so fast in front of her. It seemed like only yesterday when her father was still alive, and she herself felt safe and innocent.<p>

How did it come to this?

She felt defeated, and the willpower to keep fighting grew less and less in her heart. What was the point to fight for her desires, if she had no one to share it with?

After what seemed like an eternity, the weight of her eyelids slowly began to close, and she found herself drifting away into the dream world – the one place where all her wishes came true.

_She curled her body close to his, and the arm around her tightened its grip to hold her tight. He wrapped his black coat around them, and the furs of his cloak tickled her neck, sending cool shivers down her neck. They stayed like this, underneath the blanket of stars beneath the grass for hours. Neither spoke, but merely held each other in each others arms._

_A cold drop landed on Isabel's nose and eyelashes before they both realized that snow was beginning to fall from the sky. She put her hand out, hoping to catch the snowflakes but was quickly met with Robb's hand as he intertwined their fingers. He rolled over so his body hovered over her own, engulfed underneath his cloak and in between the warmness of their bodies._

_His lips came down to meet hers, and she was quick to deepen their kiss and allowed his hands to roam along the spine of her back and into her hair. In suit, her hands wrapped around his neck as his lips moved to the outline of her jaw line until his lips kiss the delicate skin near her ears, sending a small groan of desire through her lips. As their lips parted, they gazed silently into one another eyes, and no words were spoken,_

_No words needed be spoken. They desired one another; they needed one another._

"_I must be dreaming," she whispered._

"_Only if you believe it to be," he answered as he stroked her cheek._

"_A stolen moment, then?" she wondered, "Neither past, present or future?"_

"_A moment I would wish to live in forever."_

"_Do we dare to wish such a dream?"_

"_Only if you're afraid to, my love."_

"_I am though," she said sadly._

"_Why?"_

"_I am afraid to lose you Robb," she confessed._

"_Then you have nothing to fear, because I'm not going anywhere."_

_She smiled at him, her eyes filling with hope. "Promise?"_

"_You and me. And nobody else…I promise you."_

_Their lips met again, their bodies intertwined underneath the blanket of snow and shining stars. Their worries forgotten and their hearts lost between one another._

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Short, but sweet. I greatly apologize for the lack of Isabel/Robb moments. I beg you to be patient with me! Our little bird still needs to go through hurdles first! xoxo_**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

Her return to King's Landing was coolly welcomed by the suspicious eyes that roamed the halls of the castle. Unfamiliar eyes looked at her with uneasiness, and everywhere Isabel looked, she saw Lannister men everywhere. She was given no guards of her own, no ladies or servants. Everywhere she went, she was sure that some Lannister spy was following her and reporting her every move to the Queen.

It was like a glorified prison, and every passing minute she spent there had slowly begun to drive her insane.

Standing now in front of the Iron Throne, she watched helplessly as King Joffrey ordered a commoner's tongue to be cut out for simply singing a song that had offended Cersei. Through the cries and screams of mercy and forgiveness, Isabel could do nothing but glare at the young king in shock and horror at his disregard for lives.

It made her body shiver to think that the realm was once ruled by a man that was ten times as cruel as Joffrey Baratheon. Was the young boy slated to be the next mad king?

The young king locked eyes with her, and he gave her a smirk allowing himself to enjoy the moment of power.

"Lady Arryn!" he called out.

She held her breathe, unsure of whether to step forward, and suddenly fearful of her life. Her feet reluctantly moved forward as she placed herself in front of the Iron Throne and forced herself in a deep curtsey.

"Your Grace," she replied.

"My father has granted you the titles of Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East, has he not?" he asked.

"He did…right before he passed," she quietly spoke.

"And as my Warden, I would have expected you to call to your King's aid and help him rid him of his enemies. And yet you have failed to call your bannermen in the name of the King. Your lack of military action can warrant for treason," he warned.

"I was not aware we had declared open war," she cautiously replied, "I was sent on a mission of peace by your father."

"The time for peaceful measures has long past, and as my Warden…I would have expected you to recognize that. Do not make me doubt your ability to rule, Lady Arryn. I may not yet have the power to reverse my Father's Laws but I still hold the power to remove you by charges against your King."

It was an open threat – revenge against Isabel for failing to side with the Lannisters, and now they were using King Joffrey to undermine her current hold on her father's lands. The King's dispensation would be difficult to revoke as it required the unanimous vote of the King's council, and Isabel could only be comforted by the fact that Varys was at least would not betray her. Nonetheless, the Lannisters could threaten her by some other means – imprisonment was one form, false charges of treason was another, and the threat of death was inevitable. She looked to her side and saw the timid figure of Sansa Stark, another one of the Lannister's honoured guests. The poor girl looked frightened, and dared not look at Isabel directly. A closer glance could see the faint bruises below her neck, an indication to Isabel that Sansa had been put in harm's way.

If Joffrey Baratheon could hurt Sansa Stark, a girl barely yet a woman and get away with her, it made her ever more unnerved what the young king could do to her.

"I assure you, Your Grace that I have not instructed my Lords of the Vale to act against the King. They have not provided aid to the Stark army, but they sit idle in the Vale…awaiting my orders."

"Then you will order them to join the Lannister camp! I don't think you need to be reminded of what I do to traitors. I could have your head on a spike."

"The governance of the Vale is not so cut-throat," she carefully explained, "Our council must unanimously decide. Because of the on-going conflict between my brother and I, I'm afraid the council is rather divided and broken. Even I cannot force them to agree on such matter."

"Then they will be all committing treason against their King!" he yelled.

Cersei Lannister, who was sitting triumphantly beside her son, did little to hide the arrogant smirk that appeared on her lips. The two women stared intently on one another, with Isabel silently promising herself the vow she made to avenge her father. The Queen Regent did not bother to seek the audience of Isabel, much to her relief. However, in the court's eyes, it was a slight and public gesture that Isabel Arryn had fallen out of favour and was now seen as an enemy from the royal family. With a court that sought to please the king in every possible way to advance their own ambitions, Isabel Arryn quickly found herself alone against every vulture of the Red Keep.

_I want them all dead._

"I trust the judgment of my lords," she humbly said.

Her words had angered him, but she had carefully played her cards right. She gave him neither promise, nor lies on her current predicament. King Joffrey could condemn them to a traitorous death, but that would invite the Vale to join the Stark army, and would give considerable aid and resources against the Lannister army. She inwardly smiled at King Joffrey's foolishness. He was only a pretender in her mind. The boy couldn't rule, and the only reason he was able to hold onto the throne was because people were afraid of him.

_I am my father's daughter,_ she whispered to herself. _I am not afraid of anything….not even you Joffrey Baratheon._

* * *

><p>"That was very bold of you. You know King Joffrey's temper…it would not be wise to light anymore oil to the fire."<p>

She glanced to her side and looked at the Master of Whispers with careful eyes. He maintained his distance, and stayed at least an arm's length away from her. Her gaze remained in front of her and for some time the pair walked side by side, silently down the castle's long corridors.

Isabel noticed Sansa Stark walking towards them from a distance, with the ladies that the Queen had personally appointed to her. Her eyes were cast down, with her head and shoulder hung low that the Northern beauty had failed to watch where she was going and nudged shoulders with her own.

"My apologies, Lady Arryn," Sansa said timidly.

Isabel gave her a small smile, and took her hands into her own. "There are no apologies needed, Sansa."

The sudden touch startled the younger girl and she jolted her hands away from Isabel's grasp and took a small step back from her. Isabel furrowed her brows in confusion and suddenly felt concerned for Sansa's well being.

"Has he hurt you?" she whispered in a low voice. "You need not fear him, Sansa."

"Joffrey is my one true king," she said tonelessly, as if she had rehearsed the words a thousand times over. "He is my bethrothed and my one true love."

"Sansa…." Isabel began.

"My Lady, we must go," said one of her ladies-in-waiting said, "King Joffrey will not be pleased that you are late."

Isabel narrowed her eyes at the woman standing some feet behind her and easily recognized her as one of Cersei's spies.

"Be careful, Sansa," Isabel urged.

The blue eyes looked up, and in a flash moment, Isabel saw Robb Stark standing in front of herself. Her heart jolted, feeling a sense of joy and immediate sadness when his face disappeared away from her. As Isabel blinked away her small delusion, she was greeted with a small smile from Sansa before she was scurried away from Cersei's ladies.

"If she continues her little game, she may yet survive this court," Lord Varys observed.

Isabel frowned, silently disagreeing with Varys, but decided to voice her own thoughts. "Have they found Arya?" she wondered out loud.

"There's been no sight of her."

She gripped her hands together, her mind filling with hope that Arya had made it out of King's Landing safely, and that a ship had taken her back to the north.

"I would urge you, Isabel to take a cue from young Sansa Stark. Mind what you say, for they may be very well your last."

"That sounds like a sizable threat," she replied bitterly.

"It may well turn into a reality if you fail to heed my warnings, my Lady."

* * *

><p>She spent the remainder of the afternoon with the Great Sept, finding peace in the solitude and presence of the Seven. Isabel walked silently back to her quarters– a daily routine that she had quickly fallen accustomed to. With eyes lurking in the shadows, it was now dangerous to even try and seek out private audiences with her members of the court.<p>

With the sun now reaching its way down into the horizon, Isabel felt herself quicken her pace; not wanting to remain out in the open and exposed when night fall arrived. The corridor was nearly empty now, as the courtiers and ladies of the court had gone to fill the Great Hall for the evening's festivities. As she turned the corner, Isabel felt her body quickly jolt, losing her balance when an unknown force pulled and collided her into the stone wall.

A shock of pain went up her body, as her shoulder was forcefully rammed into the stone. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sounds of her voice became muffled as a mysterious gloved hand covered her mouth with a cloth. Her attacker held her by the throat and tightened his grip, making it difficult for Isabel to breathe. She tried to gasp for air, but found herself choking at the lack of breathe.

She put her arms out, in an attempt to strike her attacker's face, which was hidden in a hood so deep that his face was masked in black shadows. A glimpse in the rising moonlight revealed the black markings on his face, which made him more menacing and terrifying in the shadows. Her eyes looked at him in horror, as her mind raced thinking her would-be assassin was one of the infamous guild, The Faceless Men.

She punched his shoulders and chest to no avail. Her arms were simply out of reach and had made no significant impact on the stronger warrior. Tiny black dots began forming in her sight, feeling the loss of air in lungs beginning to give way. The assassin loosened his grip ever so slightly, but was quick to draw a dagger and raised it dangerously close to Isabel's cheek.

He hissed at her, but said nothing. Again, she tried to scream and wriggle her way out, but his grip was much too strong for her.

It was at that moment that she wished Ser Tommas was with her and that her Father was still alive. She began to regret at pursing such ambition dreams, and wished for nothing more than to be back at the Vale, safe, naïve and happy.

Isabel did not want to die. Not like this.

"Little bird," the assassin said, "Go back to your nest."

He lowered his dagger to her collarbone ever so slowly and she felt the cold steel against her exposed skin. All of a sudden, the steel began digging into her skin, and she felt the blood seeping out of her body and the pain that followed.

She screamed as loud as she could, but no sound came out against the cloth that still covered half of her lower face. The dagger dug deeper, and she felt the blood drip down her chest. She felt numb, cold and utterly helpless that she could not fight her attacker.

"Fly home, little bird…fly home," he whispered.

He loosened his grip and she immediately fell to the floor. Isabel coughed and heaved, welcoming the open air and gripped her chest to stop the bleeding. By the time she looked up, the assassin had disappeared leaving Isabel alone dropping in blood and gasping for air.

She yelled to call for help, but only broken sounds came out that were barely above a whisper. Isabel felt light-headed, and the wound inflicted on her began to numb, as a slow throbbing sensation began to overcome her senses. Dizziness overcame her, and she found it difficult to focus and she began to feel cold, unable to feel her fingers or the warmth of her skin. She found herself unable to move, having lost all her strength and energy.

"Help!" she croaked out, hoping that somebody would find her.

Isabel finally collapsed on the floor, and her eyelids flickering as she tried to fight the blackness that overcame her.

_Fly home, little bird…fly home._

* * *

><p>Robb Stark hunched over the wooden table in his tent, looking over the maps and battle plans, trying to determine when to attack the Lannister army next. When the ravens came announcing that his father had been arrested on charges of treason, it did not take much to convince the Northern Lords to march south towards the Trident.<p>

His victory, however did not come without a price. His mother had managed to convince House Frey to join their bannermen on the condition that he marry a Frey girl, and take on a squire from the same house.

It was one request that he did not want to agree on. His heart was already given to Isabel, and he had made a promise to her that they would be together some day. There was a moment in his mind to refuse the offer, but time was running out, and his army _needed_ to cross the Twins.

It was the only way to ensure a victory against the Lannister army, and he had paid a heavy personal price.

The game had changed, and so had the rules – Robb Stark was beginning to realize that now. His hopes and dreams had to put aside, if he wanted to avenge his father and seek justice. The two dreams simply could not go hand in hand.

_Isabel, where are you?_

It had been weeks since he had last received word of her whereabouts since she retained within the Lannister army. As the young Lord of Winterfell, he could not seek out his personal mission and go and rescue her. His men simply would not have allowed such a foolish endeavor to happen. They did not trust Isabel, though she was Jon Arryn's eldest child. They did not trust her because she had grown up in the South. They did not trust her because of what she did to her brother, and they did not trust her because she was a woman.

He had written to the Eyrie, hoping to sway the Lords of the Vale to come to his aid and free Isabel from the Lannisters, but they were slow to reply and it gave Robb little hope that he could count on the Valemen in this war. He had enough men, with now House Frey joined to his army, but the Lannister still outnumbered them two to one, and now rumours were surfacing that a Martell-Lannister alliance was forming, which would send their numbers up.

A page boy entered his tent and gave a low boy. "My Lord," he called out.

"What is it?" Robb asked.

"A messenger, my Lord…from King's Landing," the younger man hesitantly said. He pulled out a rather large parchment from his belt and gave it to Robb before taking a large step backwards, afraid of being such close proximity to him.

The parchment was poorly wrapped in a black cloth, and the young wolf was quick to unwrap it. A small dagger fell on the floor startling Robb. A small blue bird, bloodied with his head cut off followed suit, dropping down to the ground before Robb could react.

The colour drained from his face, and he knew that this was no simple warning. He picked up the dagger, which was caked in dried blood and carefully examined it, hoping it would tell him who the messenger was.

There was no letter, or anything that suggested something more – just a bloodied dagger and a dead bird; the sigil of the Arryn house.

But it was enough for Robb to know its malicious meaning. Isabel's life was in danger, and every minute she continued to spend her days in King's Landing, the closer she was to death. He did not know whose blood was on the dagger, but his heart already knew the answer.

"Who sent you this?" he angrily demanded

"He didn't say…he left right after he gave it to me. Kept riding, even after I tried to call out after him. I couldn't even see his face. It was as if he had none…hidden in the shadows," the boy explained.

He gripped the blade in his hands in anger – anger at the fact that someone had tried to kill Isabel, and scared that she may be dead.

His mind no longer thinking, his heart was asking him what he told himself not to do. But it didn't matter anymore – Isabel's life was in danger, and he would never let himself rid of the guilt if she had died.

He had made his choice. Damn the Freys, damn the lords…damn them all.

_I am coming for you Isabel._

* * *

><p>In the darkness of night, and blackness of black, the shadows of the caves hid the secrets of the Red Keep for centuries. It was only with the threat of light, that only the wisest and most clever man could maneuver their own through the crevices and cracks of the red stone to unveil the treacherous truths of the dead king's past.<p>

He raised his torch high above his head to illuminate the path ahead of him. The weight of the pouch carrying a rather large sum of golden dragons hung tightly on his belt, and Petyr Baelish was anxious to rid himself of it, in exchange for the crucial piece of knowledge that he sought.

The man he sought out had no name, no family and no history. They have described him as the death's messenger, and his presence was feared by all the noble houses. At a heavy price, the man could be bought, and he was your loyal servant until the debt was paid.

He laid hidden in the shadows, refusing to reveal himself in the light. But Petyr could feel his presence, and he held his breathe for a moment. Petyr Baelish was not afraid of many things, but this man unnerved him.

"Your task is complete," the man whispered in a low voice.

"It's done? The message has been sent?"

"Your little bird lies in a pool of blood, and your young wolf now rides south with even more determination than ever. Your war is now certain."

"Then it is done," he repeated with a victorious satisfaction.

He untied the knots of the strings and let the heavy pouch loose from his belt. He handed it over to the man, where he felt the weight disappear into the shadows.

"I must ask, how much harm did you inflict on her? You know I need her alive."

"I did what you asked and nothing more," he reassured him, "Gave her a nasty scratch, to serve as reminder of how close she came to death. The wound will heal, but will leave a scar. I gave the Stark boy my regards, and I have word he writes to the Eyrie once again to join forces."

"Then our transaction has completed. Until next time."

It took a few passing moments before Petyr Baelish realized he was alone in the underground caves of the Red Keep, unsure of when the man had left him. He shivered, feeling unsafe and exposed in the darkness and proceeded to leave as quickly as possible.

The task was done – love will fuel the chaos and plunge the Seven Kingdoms into further war.

_What a young man wouldn't do for love,_ he bitterly thought.

Now all he had to do was sit and wait – wait to save the day.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Stay tuned to see what happens next! xoxo :)**


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19:

_She was running from someone, but didn't know who. She was running to search for someone, but didn't know who, and she was running to somewhere, but didn't know where. The skirts blew in the wind, and her hair tossed in all directions and her legs led her to hallways and corridors that seemed foreign and strange to her. _

_A figure appeared in the distance, and he stopped to wait for her until he had decided to run away again._

"_Wait!" she called out._

_She picked up her skirts and start running again, hoping to find the person she was looking for. She ran around the corner and into the open courtyard, to find herself alone. As she stopped to catch her breathe, a snap of a branch made her whip her head around and she saw the figure, hidden behind the godswood._

"_Stop! Please!" she yelled out._

_Isabel ran towards the godswood, but could not find anybody there, as the figure had somehow mysteriously disappeared again. _

'_Little bird," he whistled out. _

_She looked up, and the mysterious figure was above her on the castle walls looking down at her. In an instant, she ran out of the courtyard and up the spiral stairs to catch up to the mysterious figure. _

_He remained there, but his back was facing her and she could not see his face. He did not turn around, but remained ever so still like a stone statue._

"_Why do you run away from me?" she asked._

"_Why do you seek me?" he challenged._

"_I don't know," she said truthfully._

"_Then you cannot seek the answers to the questions you have not yet found," he replied._

"_Who are you?" she asked._

_She could not see his face, but his voice sounded so familiar, as if she had heard it from a previous life. It sent shivers down her spine, but she could not place a face to his words._

"_Everything you hope to achieve," he answered cryptically. "And everything that you hold dear to your heart."_

"_You sound like my father," she jokingly said._

"_I met your father once," he recalled, "You were his hope…you were his dream. He died a proud man…he died with no regrets."_

"_How…how do you know my father?" she suspiciously asked, "Who are you?"_

"_You must not fear me," he cautiously said._

"_How can I fear you when I do not know you?"_

"_Are you afraid of me now?"_

_She was confused, and she furrowed her brows trying to remain one step ahead of this mysterious man, trying to recall the sound of his voice. She knew in her heart that they once knew each other, and she was convinced he was trying to trick her._

"_I am more confused than afraid," she confessed, "Just tell me who you are."_

"_I am anything you want me to be – whatever your heart desires…but you in turn must hand over everything to me. It is the price I ask for the dreams you seek."_

"_A most unfair price," she objected._

"_On the contrary, it is the necessary price if you wish to seek me. Many men do not have the courage to agree to my terms, and these men meet failed and unhappy fates."_

"_And my father? What was his price? What did he give to seek you?"_

"_His life," he stated, "For you…he gave up everything. In the end, it was all for you."_

"_What did he see in me that was worth his own life?" she wondered out loud._

"_What does any father see in their children? He saw great things…and he was right. Great and powerful things lie ahead of you Isabel Arryn, but you must be prepare to pay the price when the time comes. You must not fear me, when we meet again…and I suspect we will meet again very soon."_

"_And when will that be?"_

"_When you realize your heart's true desires," he told her. "You will realize soon that your dreams, whichever one you choose will not come without my price. Sacrifices…have to be made."_

"_Who are you?" she asked again, still unsatisfied with the man's answer._

"_You already know the answer, my little bird," he said affectionately._

_Before she could say his name outloud, the man ran away, and she picked up her skirts to chase after him._

"_Wait!" she yelled out after him._

_But he did not listen, and he disappeared into the shadows leaving Isabel alone, confused and afraid for what was to come._

"_Robb!" she sobbed out and she collapsed onto the stone floor, with her skirts billowing around her._

"_Please come back! Please don't leave me!"_

* * *

><p>Ser Harrold Hardyng walked down the winding corridor of the Eyrie, with a letter in hand in desperate search for his fellow council members for advice and direction. The raven arrived at first light, and had Ser Harrold not been dueling with some of the other knights in the open courtyard, he would have never have seen Maester Coleman and his messenger birds.<p>

Since Isabel Arryn's departure, Lord Nestor Royce had been careful not to interfere with the war between the Lannisters and Starks. With their lands divided, it was deemed more important to keep the peace in their homeland, rather than seek out war itself. Rumours had begun to swirl amongst their court that she had gone to personally apologize to the Lannister Lord for offending Tyrion, while others had speculated that she was planning to aide the lions. Lord Nestor Royce and Lord Hersy were careful neither to deny or confirm any claims, but merely said she was on the King's business, and that as his loyal subjects, they had to comply with his wishes.

But that changed all too fast. Within a week, the ravens from King's Landing came announcing the King's death. Within a week, the ravens came from the Lannister camp, announcing Isabel's extended stay and her surprise declaration in returning to the capital. Within a week, Ned Stark was arrested and charged with treason, and now his son, Robb Stark rode south with the Northern Army, ready to join the Tully forces.

The rapid change of events left little time for the Eyrie to ponder their next moves. Isabel's letter was immediately suspicious, and no one from her party had sent any sort of messages, leading the council to think she was taken hostage and her men, dead. While the council advocated riding into battle with Robb Stark to free Isabel, Lord Nestor Royce was firm to retain their armies. Though Ser Harrold disagreed, he saw reason in the older man's logic. As long as Tywin kept Isabel safe, then the Eyrie would not enter the war.

It was a silent threat that forced the council into an uneasy truce, and unwilling submission.

Ser Harrold picked up his pace, anxious to seek his council members. A knight waiting by the doors of High Hall gave a bow to the younger knight before opening the door and announcing his arrival. Inside, Lord Nestor Royce and Lord Hersy were privately conversing with one another, hunched over the table that had maps of Westeros sprawled out all over the surface. They may not have been participating in the war, but they were monitoring all its movements and carefully tracked both the Lannister and the Stark army.

"My Lords!" the young knight called out.

The two older men looked up and gave a respectful nod to him. Ser Harrold was Jon Arryn's nephew, through his sister's marriage to the late Lord Hardyng who had died many years prior. He had spent his entire life in the shadows of Isabel Arryn, and for many years had been envious at the lavish attention she had received from not only her father - his uncle, but from all the Lords of the Vale. He was of the same blood as her, and yet many of the higher Lords disregarded him as the third choice.

And he had promised to himself many years ago, that he would prove all of them wrong – he just had to wait until the time was right to join the other players of the game.

Ser Harrold, quick to mask his true intentions kept a straight face and quickly handed the letter to the Steward of the Vale. "A letter from the Stark Army."

Lord Nestor Royce let out a heavy sigh. "If it's another alliance they seek, they're wasting their time. We cannot afford to join in their war while we have matters to attend to at home."

He unfolded the parchment and immediately fell silent, as the coloured had drained from his face and his hand begun to shake slightly.

"What is it? Another victory from the Lannisters?"

"..N..no…" he replied, having the sudden inability to speak.

"Out with it Nestor," Lord Hersy impatiently grunted.

"…Lady Isabel…she's been…attacked. Robb Stark believes she's in serious danger at King's Landing and urges that we make haste and gather our forces."

Lord Hersy grabbed the letter from his hands to read the letter himself. His eyes blinked rapidly, unsure if the words were a cruel illusion and that they'd change their meaning each time his eyes readjusted.

"Robb Stark does not say he has any proof. How can we be sure? We have received no news from King's Landing."

"We receive no news at all in general," Ser Harrold pointed out, "The Lannister's have made it their mission to keep the Vale in the dark since they took Lady Isabel. But we all know it's a ploy to keep our obedience."

"I think they'd have the decency to tell us if she was hurt, or worse dead," Lord Hersy challenged.

"Then you put too much faith and honour in their name. That's the last thing they want to do."

"And what if the wolf is right?" asked Lord Nestor Royce, "An attack on the Lady is an offense to her house, her father and our lands."

"You think they deliberately invite us out into open war?"

"Robb Stark did not speculate any culprits, although we can all guess who may be behind it."

"It doesn't make sense," said Lord Hersy, "Tywin threatens us into submission with Isabel's life, and now he attacks her to provoke us? It's not the wisest move on his part."

"Then perhaps it is not Tywin's doing…but somebody else," suggested Ser Harrold.

"Now what conspiracy are you toying with now, boy?" asked Lord Nestor Royce.

"Perhaps not a conspiracy…but somebody _wants_ us to enter this war. Somebody wants us to side with the Starks…and now they've become dangerously close to achieving their goals. And we must ask ourselves why? And who?"

"The other lords will not be happy. They will not be convinced to raise their banners in Isabel's name…actually some of them will be happy. The minute this news gets out, I guarantee you that they'll be plotting to but her brother back on the throne."

"Then don't call the houses," announced Ser Harrold. "Let them sit in their castles while they cowardly wait and hope that Lord Robert is restored. The few houses loyal to Isabel have an army close to eight thousand men alone. We don't need the other Lords to ride out…just those who are prepared to fight for her Lady's honour."

'And who will lead them? _You?"_

Ser Harrold cleared his throat. "I'm the best swordsman in the Vale, and she's of my kin, my Lords. It is the most insulting offense against my mother's house that I must avenge."

"What do you know about war, Ser Harrold? You know only of tourneys and jousts. You've never killed a man, nor seen the blood that spills out to the battleground. You've been raised by the old Lady Waynwood…you're as green as Robb Stark. What do you have? A crown of reeds and thorns from your tourney victories? A wooden sword you play with in the courtyard?"

"And how old were you when you rode out during Robert's Rebellion?" he challenged. "How old were my lords when they first drew the blood of another man? We all were the green boy once, but we all were given the chance to prove ourselves."

The two high lords looked at each other for a long time, and neither said anything to one another. It was a risky decision that neither of them had wanted to make, and yet they knew the young boy had enough fire in him to get the job done.

"Eight thousand men," Lord Nestor Royce said in finality. "If you find your victory, Ser Harrold Hardyng, you'll be half way to a lordship."

He inclined his head at the slight compliment, although it had sounded more like an insult though remained silent, awaiting their decision.

"Ride out to the Northern Army, and join their forces," instructed Lord Hersy, "We'll send the ravens to King's Landing demanding Isabel's release and in the meanwhile try to maintain some peace with the other lords and avert a civil war. These will be dark times for us…let us pray that the Seven has us in their favour."

* * *

><p>When she opened her eyes, the bright light that shone into her room made her head spin and her sight became blurry again. She tried to move her body, but it felt that her arms and legs were heavy as if chained to irons. Her neck was stiff, and her head was pounding and as she desperately tried to remember how she ended up in her bed, she begun to panic when she couldn't remember what had happened to her.<p>

She moaned, and found her throat extremely dry as if she had not spoken in days. Her muscles were sore and there was a dull throbbing pain at her chest, just above her breasts. She slowly touched her chest, only to be thoroughly surprised that a thick bandage was covering her chest, indicating a wound that she had mysteriously sustained. Gently touching it, she gasped in pain, surprised that such a light pressure felt like a million needles had pierced her body.

_What happened to me?_

Flashes of a dagger and a hidden face plagued her visions, and she had begun to remember the sharp pain she felt she the cold steel dug deep into her skin. She began to remember her pathetic attempt to fight off her attacker, and how she fell to the floor in her own pool of blood thinking she had finally met death's door.

Yet somehow, the Seven had decided to grant her life instead of death.

The door opened, revealing the last person she had expected to be present in her private chambers. He stood there with a smug expression on his face, as if he knew the real reason behind Isabel's present condition.

"Our little bird awakes from her slumber," he happily commented. "The entire castle was in uproar when word spread what had happened to you…Maester Pycelle didn't think you'd last the night since you lost so much blood. A servant girl found you…frightened the poor girl, seeing you lying in a pool of blood like that."

She opened her mouth, wanting to speak but only a series of croaks and broken words came out. Petyr Baelish chuckled and lightly patted her on her hand. "You've been asleep for nearly a week Isabel. Your voice will come back to you soon. We've taken the liberty to come by to your chambers everyday to check on your condition…that is Lord Varys and I. Sansa has visited you quite often, and I'm told sits at your bed during the day. And our queen has prayed for your speedy recovery…she's been very worried about you. We've already begun to investigate who the culprit was in your attack…although I'm sure you have your suspicions."

She narrowed her eyes at him, understanding his meaning. Could it be the Lannisters? It was the only probable suspicion, considering of the treatment she had received by them. Could it be Varys? Was this just another piece of the game he was playing? There were so many questions that went unanswered that it made Isabel confused and tired.

"Maester Pycelle was careful to tend to you…but he did say… it will leave a scar," he said and gestured towards her bandage. "The wound was so deep; it most likely won't really properly heal."

Her hand went up to her chest, and she was careful not to touch it with such force as to agitate her healing wound, but she held her cry in her throat at the thought of a scar that now would be a constant reminder of her encounter with death.

"There are rumours that your Valemen move west on the High Road…no doubt to avenge you," he nonchalantly stated. "I say, your predicament must have caused quite a stir in the Eyrie. It does make me wonder who has stepped up to the plate and volunteered to save the day. I wonder what your step-mother must think of the situation, whether her tears are tears of sadness, or tears of joy."

She clenched her fists in anger, and felt helpless at the fact that she could not yell nor defend herself due to her healing throat. She knew he was enjoying himself, belittling her. He thrived in these small moments of power, where his knowledge proved to triumph his own arrogance.

_What are you up to Petyr Baelish?_

"Half your men ride West, while the remainder stays to defend your throne in the event that Lysa Arryn decides to plot against you. Divided lands, divided lords and divided loyalty…whatever will you do Lady Isabel? How will you save the day? I wonder, can Isabel Arryn…be her own hero?"

She was seething in anger, and she breathed slowly in an effort to control her emotions. Isabel knew what he was trying to do her, and she felt helpless that it was working. Petyr Baelish was trying to undermine her, taunt her and remind her that she was powerless in King's Landing. It was if he was reminding her that Jon Arryn died because of him, and that he could very well take Isabel's life if he wanted to.

It was at that moment that she realized just how dangerous this man was.

"….G…get…o..out..," she managed to slowly whisper out, having the sudden impatience for him.

His smirk remained on his face, as if he was unfazed by her command but decided to grant her the simplest request. He stepped back from her bed and gave her a low bow before walking out and closing the door behind him and allowing the darkness and the shadows consume her thoughts.

_I want him to rise to high that when he falls, there will be no one to catch him,_ the sinister voice whispered in her head.

_I want him dead,_ the voice whirled around the room, _I want them all dead._

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_**Sorry for the long wait..enjoy! :) xoxo**


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20:

The few days after Isabel had woken were long and painful for her. The herbs and medicines that Maester Pycelle gave her were often bitter, but was told would heal her wound better, though the scar that would form would never fully disappear. Her voice soon returned to her, though it was low and raspy, and she had noticed the dark bruises around her neck from when her attacker's hand had grasped her throat.

A knock on the door broke the silence that Isabel was secluded to each day and night, and it startled her, sending a shock of pain into her chest at the sudden jolt of movement.

She winced, but bit her tongue from screaming out in pain. She brought her hand to her chest, nursing her wound, while she got up from her reading chair and opened the door to welcome her visitor.

It was the first time she had seen Lord Varys in private since her return to King's Landing. With every Lannister eye's monitoring her movement, Lord Varys became even more careful with his movements and made no effort to seek Isabel out.

"My Lord," she whispered, careful not to strain her recovering voice.

"I am delighted to see you all well again," he said happily. "There was a moment that we all thought you weren't going to make it."

She unconsciously narrowed her eyes at him, but Lord Varys seemed oblivious at her reaction. Isabel stood to the side and motioned him to enter her chambers and shut the door behind them.

"It brings warmth to my heart that so many people were worried about me," she said bluntly.

"You are well loved by many," he replied.

"And yet there are still those who wish to see me dead," she muttered.

"A warning, I would assume," he pondered.

"So you…don't know anything about this?" she hesitantly asked. Isabel had first thought it might have been Lord Varys that had orchestrated the entire event, for he had the most to lose if she had decided to stray from his plans. After all, he was prepared to do just about anything to ensure his ambitions were achieved.

"He wasn't one of my men," he confessed, "but definitely someone from the East."

"The Lannisters?"

"I don't think so. They wouldn't disadvantage themselves should the Vale find out you were harmed in their custody."

"Then who? Who hired the assassin?"

"Who stands to thrive in chaos?" he asked.

The name was at the tip of her tongue, but she refused to speak his name out loud. She clenched her fists in anger; appalled at the realization that only days ago, Petyr Baelish was in her room, feigning innocence and offering her sympathy. He had killed her father, and now he was after her.

_What do you want from me Littlefinger?_

"To what end? What does he want with me?"

"You are just another pawn to him," Lord Varys clarified, "I'm told that word has already reached the Vale and the Stark army about your condition. The Valemen ride west to join the young Lord Stark…a final push to plunge the last great house into war, and this will surely send the entire Riverlands into certain chaos"

"Then I cannot stay here," she declared, "If my men ride into war, I cannot stay here."

"You agreed to not interfere. You've done enough damage as it is. I will hold your word against you," he sternly reminded her.

"That was before Ned Stark was arrested for treason. That was before King Robert died…before Tywin Lannister kept me hostage…and before an attempt on my life was made," she challenged back, surprised that her voice felt stronger and louder.

"You knew of the risks. I warned you that people would get hurt," he reminded her.

"I will not sit idle and do nothing, while people around me are dying," she repeated. "I will leave King's Landing with or without your help. You ask me to wait patiently, and have me listen to your false promises. You ask me to seek friends across the Narrow Sea,…but where are they? Where is my army? I cannot stand in the shadows and watch my lands succumb to sickness."

"You will get your army…I don't intend to break my promises. But I urge you to wait a little longer until the timing is right. Let the chaos unfold within these lands before you enter this war."

"You give me the help I need now, or I will find my own way out of King's Landing and with one less friend," she said with firm finality.

She knew Varys all too well – she knew he would hold his cards close to his heart before making any drastic decisions. Yet sometimes, his idleness frustrated Isabel to no end.

And the time for doing nothing was long over.

"Then consider yourself alone in your endeavor. You will play the game foolishly if you think that running back to the Stark army will solidify your claim to the Vale. He cannot help you…sooner or later you will see this shortcoming. Robb Stark has his own path to follow, and it doesn't have anything to do with you or your own ambitions."

She pursed her lips tightly but held her composure. "I cannot know if I do not try."

"You will find failure, my Lady," he warned, "And when you meet that fate, I may not be able to save you from your fall."

"Sometimes I am led to think that you intend to have me fail. I know your ways all too well," she said accusingly.

"I formed this alliance to _both_ our advantages," he stressed.

"Then give me some reassurance. An empty promise of marriage is simply not enough..though I hear your beggar king is dead...so whom am I to marry now?" she said disbelieving.

"We'll think of something else," he reassured her. Isabel however, felt suspicious of his motives and was not entirely convinced that he had shared every secret with her. It was true – Viserys Targaryen was dead, making her betrothal void. Yet, a nagging voice at the back of her mind made her doubt that she did not escape the prospects of a political marriage so easily.

Lord Varys had something else up his sleeve – and it was only a matter of time before he revealed all.

"Give me three ships," he suddenly declared.

"I can't simply _give_ you three ships to use as you please without raising suspicions, Lord Varys. They are military ships and our fleet is commanded by the coastal lords…some whom are loyal to my brother."

"Have I taught you nothing?" he mockingly asked, "Have your little birds whisper a little lie in your lord's ears and it should ease their minds. Tell them you wish to establish new trade routes, especially to Braavos and Qarth. It's a perfectly plausible explanation, considering your ties with the Free Cities."

She silently admitted and saw reason in Varys' explanation. Still, it would draw some suspicion amongst her lords. The Vale rarely sought out trade routes directly with the Free Cities, as her father had been thoroughly suspicious of their dealings, and held bias against the slave cities. Under Jon Arryn's rule, he made sure that the Vale retained their imports from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

"And in return…for my ships, what shall I receive in good faith?"

He thought for a moment, when his eyes lit up. "Knowledge is my power and my best gift to you at this time."

"And pray to the Seven..what could you possibly know that will be of use to me?" she asked impatiently.

"My first little secret is Petyr Baelish. I urge you to watch your back in the coming days. He has ties to Lysa Arryn...he will use her for his own ambitions, and his meddling will make him a great enemy of yours. He knows your greatest weakness is your family, and he will use them against you. Make no mistake, Isabel..Petyr Baelish is determined to see you fall."

She took a deep breathe, finding it hard to swallow the foreboding truth that dripped in the air. "He can try. Lysa Arryn is locked up in a tower and under my constant watch…she's powerless. He won't be able to get to her."

"For now," he suggested. "You know his ways better than anyone…I would advise you to not let him out of your sight amongst your other enemies. Keep your own spiders on him, and keep two steps ahead of him. And if you keep gallanting through the Riverlands with the young wolf, raging war against the Lannisters, he will strike you from behind and wring your neck when you least suspect it. "

"I'll be careful," she said quietly, letting the words of caution sink into her heart.

"My second little secret I offer you…concerns your father," he said slowly.

"What of my father?"

"His quest to seek the truth about the Queen's children was not the only reason for his death."

"What do you mean?" Isabel asked suspiciously.

"He died...for you. It seemed that your father had plans to send your brother to be fostered in Dragonstone. A most careful move on his part to have your brother removed from his mother…and to rid him of any lingering influence from the southern courts."

"Most of the houses already regard you as your father's successor. Sending your brother to Dragonstone, especially in his health would most definitely been detrimental: the journey alone would have killed him."

"You said he died because he learnt the truth about the Queen's children."

"Someone got to him before Jamie and Cersei could...though it would have been easy to place blame on them, considering the circumstances."

Isabel fell silent and cast her eyes down, letting the tears fall on her cheeks. Her hands, now cold and sweaty began to slightly shake. It was only until now that she had begun to realize just what her father saw in her.

She was the son he never had.

"Do you now realize what's at stake? Do you want to throw everything away for _him_? Your father's dreams, his sacrifice, his battles? Jon Arryn saw greatness in you, Isabel. _I_ see greatness in you. Don't give it all up."

Her heart was torn, and she felt it being pulled in a million different directions. She closed her eyes and began to see flashes of her life before her. Images of her past, her present and her future appeared before her, offering her a glimpse of two very different paths that now stood in front of her. She saw pure happiness, love and devotion in one image - a humble life, with the man she loved. Yet in another image that suddenly appeared, she saw the Lords of the Vale appear before her in High Hall, as well as her sitting amongst the small council.

Isabel Arryn had never been so conflicted in her life – and it almost brought her to tears knowing that there would be a point very soon that she would have to choose between her love of Robb Stark, and her love of her father.

_Why can't I have both?_

The voices in her head began to whisper. _You can try little bird._

* * *

><p>Ser Harrold Hardyng led his army of eight thousand men across the Riverlands to formally meet the Stark Army at Riverrun, a castle that was besieged by the Lannisters only weeks earlier. Word quickly spread that the Vale had joined the war as a result of the attempt on Isabel's life which was met with great reaction on both sides of the war. Only time would tell, however whether this change in the game would mean victory for Robb Stark.<p>

The young knight approached the castle, former home of Lady Lysa Arryn and stared at it with slight awe. Ser Harrold had never really stepped foot outside of the Vale, and was slightly nervous at travelling across such unfamiliar lands. He was not well verse in the art of war and negotiation, nor was he highly regarded amongst the higher lords, which made him determined to prove his worth.

He no longer wanted to be in the shadows of the Arryns, his mother's house. Ser Harrold wanted to prove he was just as capable of being a competent leader. He could be as strong as Isabel Arryn, as loved as Isabel Arryn and as powerful as his cousin.

He was surprised that a hoist of the lords stood by the castle gate, and waited for his party to arrive. Ser Harrold had never met any of them, and was careful not to bear any pre-judgment against the young Stark. However, he was curious at what Robb Stark was really like. After all, he had managed to capture the heart of the Lady Isabel and rumours were circulating that they had once again rekindled their courtship after a broken betrothal many years ago.

"My lords," he greeted and dipped into a low bow as a sign of respect.

"Ser Harrold Hardyng of the Vale," a man in the centre replied. He was much younger than Ser Harrold, with red hair and blue eyes, and was cloaked in black and dirtied armour as if he had just returned from a long and hard battle.

"I am most grateful you have come to meet us," he continued, "These are dangerous times and our friends need to stick together."

"Lord Stark?" Ser Harrold asked in confirmation.

The younger man nodded and gave him a small, but warm smile – a sign of friendship rather than animosity. He opened his arms in a welcoming gesturing and grabbed Ser Harrold's forearms; a man's way to greet each other. Greywind, the direwolf although suspicious of the new stranger in his presence, slowly approached Ser Harrold and nudged against his thigh; a sign of acceptance into his world.

"Come," Robb stated, "We have much to discuss."

Robb Stark led the Vale Knight into the castle halls where his war council was meeting – a morning, day and nightly ritual for the Lords of the Riverlands and the Lords of the North, in an attempt to maintain one step ahead of the Lannister army.

Ser Harrold did not recognize anybody in the room, save for Ser Bryden Tully who was the Commander of the Bloody Gate. He gave Ser Harrold a curt nod before returning into deep conversation with his older brother, Ser Edmure Tully. The others, especially the lords cloaked in fur and black cloaks looked at him with suspicion. Ser Harrold could only assume they were the Northern Lords, and they made no effort to greet him.

"Your arrival, Ser Harrold lifts a great burden off my shoulders," Robb confessed.

"We are here to seek vengeance against the crime committed against our Lady," he declared. "Damn the Lannisters…they have no honour."

"And we will seek it…together."

Ser Harrold took the moment to study the young lord, and saw the desperation in his eyes. His face was worn and tired, but he saw the strength that made him keep his composure. He was just a boy, Ser Harrold decided, only a boy pretending to be his father.

How could he lead such an army?

"Have you heard any news from King's Landing?" Ser Harrold asked.

"Nothing official…only whispers and rumours. My father still lies in the dungeons, chained like a prisoner. My sisters are still held captive by the Lannisters…and Isabel…who knows whether she is alive or dead. The Lannisters are careful not to go into detail about her condition."

"Lord Nestor Royce has sent eight thousand men with me, to aide your cause," he told the young lord, "We would have sent more…but the Vale currently remains divided. Our matters at home needed his attention."

"So it's true then…Lady Isabel has laid claimed to her father's titles?" he said admiringly.

"For the time being," he admitted, "Though the council wonders how long we can hold it for her, unless she returns to us in safety. Not all of our lords are in agreement with her, and they will plot with Lady Lysa and the Lord Robert to cast her out. We dared not to call all our banner men at this time, until Lord Nestor Royce manages to negotiate some terms with them."

"Are you in agreement with Isabel?" he asked.

He thought for a moment, unsure of how to respond. The fight for the Vale was never his battle, for he had accepted long ago that it was a cause that he could never win. Nobody thought that Isabel Arryn had the courage to rebel against her step-mother. So if she could achieve such improbable obstacles, why couldn't he attempt the same ambitious dream?

It was a most treasonous thought, especially when her rule was still green and uncertain, yet it would have been an opportune moment to dare and take the Vale for himself. It certainly would solidify his worth to the entire realm. Ser Harrold quickly shook those dark thoughts out of his head, horrified at the face that he could even think of sending the Vale into further chaos.

"Lord Robert could not have ruled the Vale in the best judgment," he declared, "and his mother refused to listen to his council. Neither of them was fit to rule. The council and I agree that the Lady Isabel can lead us with a sound mind."

Robb firmly clasped his arm on Ser Harrold's forearm again and gave him a curt nod. "I will not forget the Vale's kindness. When this war is over, and victory is won, you have my word that I will fight in support for Isabel…It was her dream her entire life to sit on the throne in High Hall. I owe it to her…I owe it to us to help her in this cause."

* * *

><p>It was as if the entire city population of King's Landing had gathered in the public square to watch Ned Stark confess his crimes. It had come to a surprise to the entire king's council and court that the former Hand of the King was ready to admit to the charges brought against him, leading Isabel to wonder who had convinced him to carry out such a foolish decision.<p>

Now the royal family, as well as the council members and Sansa Stark stood in the middle of the public square waiting for the chain Ned Stark to admit to his crimes. It was a horrible sight for Isabel – Ned Stark looked absolutely defeated and tired. His shoulders were slouched, and his hair matte and dirty while his eyes bore such sadness when he glanced to his eldest daughter, Sansa Stark.

No child should ever have to see their father in such a defeated state, Isabel thought to herself.

She wished she could speak to Ned, but he was barred from any visitors since his arrest making it impossible for her to seek him. She looked to Sansa Stark, a girl barely fourteen summers old and had held such hope in her eyes that her father would be spared. She had bravely begged for mercy in front of the entire court, begging for her father's life which had convinced King Joffrey to agree to mercy should he admit to treason. She heard from the council itself that they would allow Ned Stark to take the Black, which they hoped would stop Robb Stark from marching further south.

It seemed like a hopeful and reasonable plan, yet there was a nagging feeling that it wasn't going to be that easy.

Isabel looked at the crowd, where the commoners had begun to denounce Ned Stark, calling him a traitor and some were even throwing scraps of food and rocks at his slouched form. Each time Ned was hit, Isabel cringed, feeling disgusted that these same people had once loved and respected the Northern Lord.

The defeated face of the wolf looked up at her and he held her gaze for a moment. There was no fear in his eyes, nor regret, though Isabel could see the sadness. He gave her a small smile and a nod, a silent gesture to the young Arryn girl of farewell, as if he knew this was his last moment in this world. It was if he was silently telling her that he would join Jon Arryn very soon.

And it made Isabel almost cry out.

She quickly looked away, blinking away the tears and instead looked onto the crowd. A small figure in the distance caught her gaze, and she felt her heart skip a beat when her eyes landed on a small form crouched on top of the pillar. Isabel squinted her eyes at the small form, and was convinced it looked like a young girl, with the same features as Arya Stark, who had not been seen since her father's arrest. She bit the bottom of her lip, unsure of what to do at that moment.

She put one hand on her head and the other on her chest and groaned, feigning discomfort at her healing wound. Cersei Lannister looked at her and gave her a suspicious glance. "The heat of the sun is not sitting well with me," she explained to her, hoping her lie would convince the Queen Regent.

Cersei Lannister said nothing to challenge her, but did not hide her displeasure towards the Arryn girl. She motioned to some members of the City Watch and instructed them to escort her back to the Castle. Isabel was still a prisoner of King's Landing, and so she had to be extra diligent in these next few moments. She cast a glance back at the pillar, and was relieved that the figure was still there, though now well-hidden behind the pillar.

"Escort the Lady directly back to the Castle," the Queen instructed.

Isabel began to make her way off the raised platform, but not before giving a meaningful glance at Petyr Baelish. They held each other's gaze for a moment before Isabel kept moving. As she stepped off the platform, and begun maneuvering away from the crowd, she held her breathe knowing that her opportune moment to escape was about to come.

_They met under the blanket of stars near the godswood tree, while the entire court had entered their dream world. His small figure had easily allowed him to hide behind a column while he waited for the other party to arrive. Her figure emerged from the courtyard, her face carefully hidden behind a hood, but he knew it was Isabel Arryn, who had come to seek him in private. _

_He carefully emerged from his hiding spot, making sure he did not make any noise that would arouse any suspicions from the night guards. He cleared his throat to break the silence when they were within an earshot away from each other, and he immediately jumped a step back when the figure whipped around with a dagger that came dangerously close to him._

_She hesitantly lowered her defense after ensuring they were completely alone and she lifted the hood, uncovering her face._

"_Danger lurks in the shadows," she whispered, "You can't be too careful nowadays."_

The crowd of King's Landing was silenced by King Joffrey, who had roared out that the Hand of the King was ready to confess his crimes against the Iron Throne. But Isabel was no longer focused on what was happening around her anymore. Her gazed focused on the spot where she saw Arya Stark, and was careful not to lose sight of her. She momentarily felt the presence of a least four members of the City Watch around her, with their hands on their swords.

_The two figures stood apart from one another, each thoroughly suspicious of the other. King's Landing was a place of deceit and lies – nobody could be trusted._

"_I'd never thought you seek my audience in such circumstances…I dare not think that you've begun to warm up to me," he mused._

"_You will find me a way out of the Queen's custody and out of King's Landing,"she demanded._

"_And why would I want to do that?" he asked, as a smirk formed on his face. _

_She fell silent, unsure of what she could have to offer him. It was almost a foolish decision for Isabel to seek Petyr's help, but she had no one else to turn to._

_And yet sometimes, one's greatest enemy could become your greatest ally in times of need if the game was played right._

"_Tell me," she slowly began, "It must be so dull to play this game, when you hold absolutely no power in this realm. No lands, no titles, no lineage…nothing to back up the great mind of the Master of Coin. Doesn't it ever get…frustrating? To play this game, with no rewards?"_

"_Perhaps I play a different game then yours," he replied, "A game that promises bigger rewards."_

"_I highly doubt that," she challenged. "Help me out of King's Landing…and I'll level the odds and give you a lordship."_

_It was a dangerous card to play, but she needed to tempt Petyr Baelish with one of his biggest desires. _

"_That honour is not yours to give," he noted._

"_You forget I am the Lady of the Vale, not my brother. I can grant titles throughout my lands as I please. You are Petyr Baelish of the Littlefingers, are you not? Your father was a sworn house to the Eyrie. Do this for me, and you'll get your lordship. A small, but necessary step in your worldly desires."_

_He slightly narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. "I like you Isabel Arryn…but I don't trust you." _

"_I will not stay here, like some honoured prisoner," she demanded. _

"_What will you do if I refuse?"_

_Before he could even finish his words, he felt a hand around his throat and the same dagger that came dangerously close to his eye. He gulped and held his breathe, momentarily fearing for his life. _

"_Do not think that I do not know how to kill a man," she threatened. "I could very well give you the same treatment that I received in the corridors those weeks ago… or perhaps I would give you the same treatment you gave my father."_

"_Is that a threat?"_

"_I'm merely returning the courtesy you bestowed towards my family," she hissed and dug the knife deeper into his skin._

"_I have no idea what you're talking about."_

"_You've made a very dangerous enemy out of me Petyr Baelish."_

_He looked into her eyes, sensing the once innocent Lady of the Vale was now slowly being overpowered by the shadows of power and corruption. He saw raw desperation in her eyes, he saw determination and fire in her eyes, and he saw the hunger for power in her eyes. For a mere moment, he did not recognize the Arryn girl, but instead saw the demons that haunted his own mind and soul in front of him. _

_Power corrupts the soul, he said to himself._

"_I will hold you to your word," he said slowly. "Should you dare betray my trust, do not think for one moment I won't tear off your wings and let you fall to your death."_

"_You can try."_

"_You greatly underestimate my ability, Isabel Arryn. You have no idea just how powerful I am…none of you really do."_

_The game was played, and their moves were made. _

The crowd began the push and pull in all directions, making it difficult for Isabel to walk properly. The members of the City Watch began to push the crowd away from her, and they became distracted amongst the growing rowdiness of the public square. Isabel looked around, looking for the supposed signal that Petyr Baelish promised and began to doubt whether he would fulfill his promise to her.

A large man, engulfed in a heavy cloak caught her sight and he nodded to her, warning her to be vigilant and ready to make her escape.

"_Through the main gates?" she said in disbelief. "Would it not be easier to leave by the ships?"_

"_Stannis Baratheon is monitoring the coasts, and has his sell swords raiding every ship coming in and out of King's Landing. The risk is far greater by sea. You will leave through the main city gates."_

"_You expect me to simply walk through the gates unnoticed? Every guard in King's Landing knows my face and my name."_

"_Tomorrow is the only time where you will be allowed out of the castle walls because of Ned Stark's declaration of treason. The city will be chaotic and the City Watch will have their hands full at controlling the crowd. It will be easy for you to slip through the cracks…especially if your escape has been prearranged with dragon's gold."_

"_A Master of Coin, indeed."_

"_Cersei Lannister is not the only one with men employed within the City Watch."_

A roar in the crowd caught the City Watch's attention and what immediately followed was a blur for Isabel. The crowd became more aggressive, and she struggled to maintain balance and found herself almost falling to the ground at times. All of a sudden, she felt a rough hand grab her wrist and yank her to the floor and the crowd above her seemed to engulf her figure and the members of the City Watch tasked to escort her disappeared from her sight.

"Get up!" a voice yelled.

She looked up and saw the same man in the large cloak and assumed that he was the man Petyr Baelish had sent. He pulled her across the ground before pulling her up roughly and pushed her through the crowd. She winced at the pain, and could feel the stitches on her chest begin to tear. But she bit her tongue to prevent her from crying out. The man pushed her head below the crowd, so that was completely hidden from sight.

Soon, a large roar emerged, and yells and screams soon engulfed the public square, but Isabel could not see what had happened as the man's hand kept her head down. She grabbed his hand, and looked at him square in the eye. "We have to go back," she pleaded, "There's someone in the crowd that we need to take with us."

"Lord Baelish said only you," he roughly replied.

She tried to fight back, and she struggled to turn her head back to the pillar where she last spotted Arya Stark. Her heart sank in disappointment, when the figure was no longer there. Her eyes then caught the sight of the ax that was rising about Ned Stark's head, and she could only look in horror at what was about to happen. The cold steel reflected the sun's rays brightly, and with one quick motion, it met its target and took the head of Ned Stark.

"No!" she yelled out. But her screams were engulfed by the crowd, and she felt helpless that no one could hear her.

"We go _now_," the man once again said and he pulled her away.

She felt the adrenaline through her veins, and her heart pounding on her chest, making the pain even more unbearable. The man shoved her roughly behind a stall, and the strength at which he pushed her made her stumble and she fell to the floor, unable to maintain her balance.

He looked at her with hunger and lust, which made Isabel nervous. But instead of drawing a dagger, he threw a cloak and some garments at her.

"You can't be walking through the gates like some highborn lady," he said in an accented tongue. "Quickly now, there isn't much time."

She inspected the clothing, which was completely too big for her, though said nothing to show her disproval. She waited for him to turn around, but he did no such thing and just continued to stare at her. She hesitantly turned around, making no fuss about the situation and obediently put the black tunic over her head, and put the black breeches underneath her skirts. She took the dagger that she now kept with her at all times and cut her dress off her body, and she let it fall to the floor. After placing the dagger safely in the boots that he gave her, she then put the heavy cloak on, its weight making Isabel slouch over.

He then placed a worn metal helmet that was too big for her, on her head and tucked the loose strands of her hair into her cloak. The man crouched down and grabbed some mud and sand from the floor and smeared it all over her face before roughly pushing her back out into the streets and gave her an ax and a short dagger to put on her belt.

"Follow closely. And say nothing," he instructed.

She followed the other man, like a child following its mother and together they maneuvered through the crowds and streets of King's Landing. Isabel purposefully kept her head down, but she could not help but feel scared and anxious every time they passed by a member of the City Watch, thinking they could see through her disguise.

They quickly reached the Main City Gate, which led to King's Road. It was heavily patrolled by not only the City Watch, but hired sellswords and Lannister men. Everybody coming in and out of the King's Landing was questioned, and their belongings searched before they were given leave to carry out their business. Isabel assumed that word had already spread on her disappearance, and that the security around the City's Gate would be heightened, and making her escape even more difficult.

As they approached the guards, she unconsciously hid behind the stranger and deliberately kept her head down; in the case they had recognized her.

"We leave on Tywin Lannister's orders," he explained and pulled out a parchment letter from underneath his cloak, which Isabel could only assumed was forged by Petyr Baelish.

The guards took the letter from him with slight suspicion, and read its contents.

"What does the Lord of Casterly Rock want with a sellsword like you?" he asked suspiciously.

"That's between myself and Lord Tywin," he stressed.

"Who's the lad behind you?" the guard asked.

"My son," he bluntly said, "A mute."

Isabel's heart skipped a beat and the guard looked directly at her, as if he was trying to remember if he had seen her before. She cast her head down and bit the inside of her cheek to make sure that she made no sound.

"A useless mute," he added before he lightly hit the back of Isabel's helmet. She glared at him, and her gaze was only met with a hidden amused smirk, Still, she said nothing and kept her head down and prayed they would not be caught.

"Get on with your business then," the guard finally said and waved them away.

It seemed almost too easy, but she dared not let her breathe escape her lips as they walked past the gate. It was only until they were well away from King's Landing that she allowed her self to relax and let out a huge sigh. She turned around, looking back at capital, which was now a disappearing sight on the horizon line.

She was free now; safe for the time being – and one step closer to her army, Robb Stark, and her destined fate.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the long wait...so I give you a long chapter. :) xoxo**


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21:

"_You cannot send my child away!" she screamed. _

_Her entire body shook with anger and despair as she grab the small golden cup and hurled it at the direction of her husband. It landed nowhere near the older man, but instead a few feet in front of his feet. Jon Arryn remained perfectly still, his hand folded behind his back and waited patiently for his wife to calm down._

"_It is expected of all young lords to be sent away to be foster, Lysa. You knew this day was coming," he reasoned._

"_He is my only son!" she yelled, "My child, my baby…you cannot tear him away from me!"_

"_It is done," he said with finality._

_He knew better than to fight with his wife, and over the years, their cold and loveless marriage and left him bitter towards Lysa Arryn. He has once hoped that her youth would have brought back some form of happiness back into his life since Rowena died, but his entire marriage had left him frustrated, tired and wary._

"_It's her, isn't it?" she spat, "she put you up to this?"_

_Jon Arryn's jaw clenched at the tone in his wife's voice. He was no stranger at the animosity between Lysa and Isabel, and though he tried to mend the bond between step-mother and daughter, he now accepted that Lysa Arryn could never replace Rowena in Isabel's heart. _

"_You know that's not true, my dear."_

_Lysa Arryn's eyes widened in anger and picked up another small golden cup and hurled it at her husband. He dared not flinch at the sudden burst of anger, but merely stood in the same position with hands folded behind his back and remained silent._

"_Have you ever considered my Robert as your son? Have you seemed to have forgotten that you have more than one child?! Robert is your only son and heir and yet you treat her as if she's the only child you have! You dote on her as if she was a queen while you treat your son like a commoner! I had hoped...that when I married you and bore you a baby boy that you'd one day love me. But instead of love, there's nothing but coldness…towards me and towards Robert! Can't you see? He's the only good thing that's come out of this marriage and now you want to take that away from me too! Have you no decency? Have you no heart? It should be Isabel that you should send away! She should be married to some lord and be shipped away from here. She should be-"_

_Before he knew it, Jon Arryn felt his hand cut through the air and strike his wife's pale hollow cheeks. His force was so strong that her entire body flung sideways towards the great bed of the Hand of the King. The motioned shocked even him and he struggled to maintain his composure at his sudden outbreak. He wanted to go apologize, but could not bring himself to move from his spot._

_Her eyes menacingly glared back, as he hand went to go nurse the red hand mark that now appeared. _

"_You will never take him away from me, even it's the last thing I do! I will do everything in my power to keep him with me...and away from you. Let the Seven be my witness Jon Arryn," she cried out._

_Jon Arryn sighed out of exhaustion and slowly walked past his wife and out into the hallway, not giving a second reaction to the cries and sobs from Lysa Arryn. When he closed the door of the room, he let his shoulders relaxed, closed his eyes and let himself ponder in own thoughts._

_Too much had happened in the last week, and it was almost too much to bear. King's Landing was becoming a more dangerous place, and he needed to protect his family before the truth about the Baratheon children came out._

_His son, Robert Arryn was his weakest link. They would go after him first; threaten the life of his only living son to maintain his silence. _

_Then there was Isabel, his eldest living daughter. They would manipulate her, whisper poison in her ears and force her into a political marriage to tie him to the Lannisters. But unlike his son, he believed that Isabel could hold her own fight._

_His entire family was in danger, and now he had the awful choice of choosing between the daughter who had his spirit and strength, or the son he always wanted._

_He put his hands in his face, careful to hide the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. It had been a very long time since he let himself cry, and it was a surprise that he had let his emotions surface. _

_Jon Arryn made his choice. In times of war, the warrior struck down its weakest link._

* * *

><p>The horses crashed into each other, sending the wooden figurines into the air and landing on the stone floor. Robert laughed at this, and proceeded to repeat it over and over again, pretending the floor was the battlefield, and he was the careful mastermind of the entire war.<p>

He did not understand why he had to stay in his rooms most days, and he grew upset when the guards would not let him to the courtyard to play. He also did not understand why his mother cried each night, and cried each time Master Coleman took him away for his daily tutor lessons.

Lysa Arryn was barred from any outside contact since her confinement. Her ladies were taken away, and replaced by strangers who she had no doubt were spies placed by Lord Nestor Royce. Some Valemen were able to seek her audience, and though they were careful at their choice of spoken words, she was given the understanding that they were already plotting to overthrow Jon Arryn's daughter.

Yet, all seemed hopeless to Lysa Arryn. She hated her step-daughter, and blamed her for her misfortune and unhappiness. To Lysa, Isabel Arryn was everything that her son could have been, yet fate had been cruel and robbed him of his life.

She hated to admit it, but Isabel was more powerful in strength and numbers. Even with the Vale now divided, Isabel still had the support of the more powerful houses.

The only hope that Lysa Arryn had left was Petyr Baelish.

He had promised her a chance at happiness. He had promised her a chance at love, and he had promised that they would be together if she dutifully followed his plans.

Now she could only sit and wait, until he would save the day and from her nightmares.

Completely isolated from the outside world, Lysa Arryn could only relish in her dreams, far away from the cruel reality that fate had placed her in. And in her dreams, she was happily married to Petyr Baelish, far away from her father, her family and all of King's Landing.

That's all she ever really wanted.

* * *

><p>Exhaustion overcame her the minute she sat on the lone tree stump when the mysterious man had decided to stop and rest for the night. Isabel's feet were blistered as they had already been travelling for nearly four days since leaving King's Landing. Her shoulders were beginning to form a rash due to the rough and heavy fabric of her tunic and the weight of the heavy wool cloak she had to wear. Still, throughout their journey thus far, she dared not complain about her discomfort in fear that the stranger would abandon her – or worse, kill her.<p>

Yet, just as Petyr Baelish promised, for the time being she was safe and out of harm's way.

Though she wondered how long he would uphold his promise for.

She took off the large helmet off her head, and welcomed the fresh air. Her hair flowed freely out of the helmet, which was now caked in dirt, grease and sweat. But her appearance was the least of her worries. With each passing moment, Isabel Arryn was afraid that they were being tracked, hunted and killed.

She was a fugitive now, having gone against the king and his family. She now would face the full wrath of the Lannister army and its allies and would bear the burden of bringing war to the Vale.

_Let them come,_ she thought.

The stranger sat across from her, though maintain a large distance between them. There was small fire lit, but it was deliberately burnt out in order to avoid detection from any wandering travelers or hedge knights. It barely gave off any heat, but Isabel knew better to complain. She huddled into her clothes and closed her eyes, her body begging her mind to let rest.

But her mind was restless, thinking a thousand things and envisioning a hundred scenarios. She looked at her guide, who was sitting in an upright position. His eyes were closed, but he was holding his ax with his right hand, as if he was prepared to attack anybody that had threatened their surroundings.

"What happens now?" she quietly whispered out loud.

Her eyes remained fixed on the ground, but the stranger heard her nonetheless. He grunted and slighted shift his position, but made no effort in responding to her. Instead, he gave her a menacing sneer, completely showing his resentment towards her. Isabel took the time to study the strange man, but found it hidden amongst the cloak that covered his face. His eyes were dark and deep set beneath his brows with dark kohl around his eyes. The fabric of his cloak, however was of fine threaded silk that Isabel easily recognized from her trade merchants. The finely threaded silks of Volantis carried a hefty price, and only those with a gold coin or two could afford such a material.

"I've always wanted to go to Volantis," she said in an effort to please him.

The stranger gave another grunt of indifference, took his knife out and began slowly sharpening it. Isabel again, tried to study his face but the stranger had felt her stare. He shook his head and let the curls of his hair cover his eyes, obscuring his face completely from her view.

"Do you speak the common tongue?" she asked slowly, wondering if he understood her at all.

He finally looked up at her and stared at her intently for so long that Isabel was forced to look away. She felt that his eyes were burning into her soul, and began to feel exposed in front of the stranger.

"I deliver you to this Stark boy…I get paid, and I disappear," he simply stated.

"How much did Petyr Baelish pay you?" she asked cautiously with a growing uneasiness at this man.

"You came with a high price," he replied.

Silence followed and neither of them bothered to speak to one another. Every now and then, Isabel would steal a glance at the mysterious stranger in a vain effort to see his face. There were moments when she could have sworn that she saw dancing shadow figures on his face, but convinced herself that it was the flames from the fire casting shadows. The mysterious man now moved on to sharpening his curved steel blade, and Isabel became mesmerized at the meditative strokes against the cold steel.

Unconsciously she took out her own dagger that she kept hidden underneath her tunic and began twirling it within her fingers.

"Do you know how to use that?" he suddenly asked.

"No," she quietly said.

"Do you know how to kill a man?"

"I don't imagine it being very hard," she blankly said.

The stranger stopped what he was doing and sheathed his sword. He went to his boot and took out a dagger that was the same size as the one in Isabel's hand. He twirled it with one hand with ease, as if it a feather in his hand, dancing around his fingers.

"Have you ever killed a man?"

She took a huge gulp, and stared at the stranger until they held each other's gaze. Her eyes began to water from the forming tears, and her brow began to sweat from the heat of the fire. Again, she felt completely exposed under his gaze, feeling all her secrets that she spent so hard to bury surfacing in a matter of seconds.

"A long time ago," she found herself saying in a quiet whisper, "I tried to take a life."

"Did you kill him?"

"No," she whispered.

"Out of fear?" he inquired.

"Out of desperation. The worst kind...I didn't know what I was doing."

The stranger abruptly stood up and walked across the fire, with his towering figure casting dark shadows across the ground and trees around them. He sat down beside her, with his gaze still focused on her eyes. Slowly, he unwrapped the finely threaded cloak until his newly uncovered face. Isabel's jaw slightly dropped at the sight of the intricate markings that covered his face. Against the dancing flames of the fire, it looked like the markings were dancing on his face, as if they had come to life under the blanket of darkness.

"The next time you kill man," he began slowly, "It will not be out of fear, or out of despearation."

"I don't plan to kill a man anytime soon," she objected.

"You will," he replied, "You are in a middle of a war. The land will be littered with blood, and you will kill to survive. The next time you kill a man, it will be out of necessity."

She bitterly laughed at his response. "You mistake me for a common solder. I fight with words, not steel."

"You still fight," he stated, "All men fight to survive. All men kill to survive."

"And what do you kill for? Gold? Women? Surely you kill to make a living, not surviving," she retorted.

He raised his dagger slowly up to her chin and firmly pressed the steel against her skin. He was careful not to cut her, and he held his dagger there for a long moment before releasing her from his grasp.

"There is no fear in your eyes," he carefully remarked as his eyes flickered to the scar on her neck, "You've seen death before."

A strange sense of relief came over her and for a very brief moment she let herself relax at the comfort she felt with the marked man from Volantis. It was as if she feared death no longer, but instead thought of death as an old friend.

"The next time you kill a man," he said, "There will be no fear."

A glint in his eyes made Isabel uneasy once again, and she was quick to note the smirk he hid as he turned his head away.

"And what would be the price offered to a sellsword to kill a highborn lady?" she said suddenly, and she gripped her dagger even tighter.

The man's back was now turned away from her, and he did not move from his spot.

"How much did Petyr Baelish pay you?" she asked again.

"Sometimes gold is not the only thing worth killing for."

She didn't bother waiting for the marked man to turn around. Before the blink of an eye, she felt her two legs running into the forest, away from the sellsword from Volantis who had had his sword and dagger in his eye. His figure became smaller and smaller and she ran into the darker depths of the forest, unsure of where she was headed or if the man was chasing after her.

She glanced sideways, thinking there was an intruder hidden within the shadows and the darkness of the woods. Isabel suddenly found herself crashing to the ground when her foot collided with an unforeseen rock in the ground. She felt her ankle twist in an angle that instantly shot a jolt of pain up her leg, making her cry out in pain. She tried to pick herself up from the ground, but the moment she put weight onto her left foot, the ensuing pain sent her right back to the floor.

_All men kill to survive. _

Isabel crawled across the mudded path and wedged herself behind a fallen tree. She touched her ankle and winced in pain, already feeling it swell up and making any effort to move it even more difficult. Her heart raced a mile a minute and her hands were shaking her felt the fabric of her tunic slice open, and a harsh stinging sensation crawling up her arm. The sellsword had shot an arrow at her, though narrowly missing his target. Still, the smell of death was near and it made Isabel even more determined to stay alive.

_You are in middle of a war, little bird. The cries of death are around you, with enemies hiding in the shadows,_ a menacing voice whispered.

She ran deeper and deeper into the forest, unsure of where she was headed until she found herself near a river of water. Isabel slid down at the rocks, well out of plain sight and remained there for some time. The voices in her head became louder and louder, and everywhere she turned, it felt as if the trees had come alive. The branches whipped against her skin, and the stings that followed made her hiss. The shadows behind began to look like they had come alive and its dark figures were now chasing her.

A wave of tiredness and exhaustion overcame her once again, and what little energy she had left was now lost. The blood which now flowed freely down her arm made her feel cold and numb. Her lids became heavy, and the sudden loss of consciousness overcame her as she began to struggle to stay awake.

But a voice in her head willed her to stay awake – and it willed her to keep fighting.

She pictured his face in front hers, picture his dark red curls and the hidden smile that he always held in his eyes. He reached up and touched her face and used his thumb to caress her skin.

"_You are stronger than you think my little bird." he told her._

Her mind began playing games on her, and her vision began to blur her dreams with her reality. She looked up at his form again and deliriously smiled at him and reached her hand out into the cold open air, thinking that she was touching his face.

"_Is this a dream?" she hazily whispered up at him._

"_Only if you want it to be," he responded. He knelt down and kissed her brow, making the discomfort and pain of her wounds disappear. Isabel felt relaxed, and she let herself sink into his arms without a care in the world._

"_Sleep now, little bird. I will watch over you. Have patience Isabel…I am coming for you."_

The sleep-deprived Isabel could no longer fight the exhaustion and her lids were now half-way closed. The last conscious memory that Isabel was left with before sleep overtook her was a large body mass that now hovered over her sleeping form.

* * *

><p>The horse came storming into the camp, causing a minor disturbance to the war council. The ruckus outside Robb Stark's tent had momentarily distracted his lords and they all walked out to observe what was happening.<p>

The horse was bloodied and the rider was seriously injured. Almost immediately the tension in the air had suddenly intensified. No one had seemed to move or breathe at that very moment, as if all were afraid to interpret the meaning of the sight that was unfolding in front of their eyes.

Ser Harrold Hardyng immediately recognized the sigil as one of his lower houses and motioned his men to help the rider off his horse. The knight was barely unconscious and the sudden movement was met with a long moan from this lips.

"What has happened?" Ser Harrold inquired.

The rider spoke barely above a whisper and Ser Harrold had to bend down and place his ear close to the rider's lips. His eyes widened and looked to Robb Stark whose solemn expression made him look fearsome.

"What is it?" Robb asked.

"Your father…." Ser Harrold began hesitantly.

"What about him? What's happened?" Robb asked again, but this time his voice sounded more urgent.

Ser Harrold remained silent, and her gulped heavily, unsure of how to deliver such dark news. "They executed him."

They were the only words Ser Harrold found himself saying, and he could not bring himself to look at the young wolf, in fear of his reaction. Instead, he kept his eyes to the floor and listened at the crowd fell silent out of shock and fear. Soon, the anger and the vows of vengeance echoed through the men.

"The Lannister's will pay for this!"

"No one insults the North!"

"Those damn lions will rot to the ground!"

Robb Stark suddenly rushed in front of Ser Harrold and grabbed him by the forearms with such strength that he had fumbled a few steps back. "That's a lie! It's not true!"

"I'm sorry, my Lord," Ser Harrold said quietly, "That's not everything. The rider told me more."

"Go on," he pressed on.

"She's been spotted…Lady Isabel. I've had scouts dispatched to all the houses in the Riverlands as well as a party towards King's Landing. None have come back, save for this knight here. He says he spotted a rather strange pair off of King's Road not three days ago. He followed them, but lost track of them. He swears to the Seven that it was our Lady….it was Isabel. She's escaped King's Landing!"

Within a blink of an eye, Robb disappeared and was calling for his horse to be saddled and readied. The other lords looked at one another, some in genuine confusion and others with concern.

"My Lord, you cannot leave the army!' Lord Jon Umber called out.

"She's the Vale's problem. Let the Arryn knight ride out after her!"

Robb turned around and looked at them with such fire than for a very brief moment, Robb Stark did not look like the green boy who was pretending to be his father. He had instantly silenced all his Northern Lords, and they all stopped protesting.

Before they could stop him, he mounted on his war horse and galloped away, leaving Ser Harrold and the rest of the lords in disarray.

"Hell, if he keeps this up, he'll lose the war. He cannot ride off like that!"

"Give him some space," Ser Bryden Tully said, "The boy just found out his father is dead. He needs to cling on to some hope that the woman he loves is still alive."

"This woman will cost him the war if he's going to remain this distracted! He's a warrior, not a lover!"

Ser Harrold stood amongst the older lords, but dared not to speak up. In their eyes, he was just as young as Robb Stark and just as inexperienced. They regarded Isabel Arryn with disdain and suspicion, and as a result, they disregarded his presence altogether.

It made him angry and frustrated that even though he entered this war with eight thousand men behind him, he still could not seek the glory and honour he was hoping for.

_Wait,_ a voice whispered to him. _Wait for your time._

Careful to conceal his true emotions, he took a deep breathe to clear his thoughts. He could see the Northern Lords were still not yet convinced of how well Robb Stark could lead their army. The alliance between House Frey and House Stark was still on uneven grounds, and they had not secured enough victories over the Lannisters that convince the lords that Robb Stark was capable yet.

They were living in uncertain times and uncertain circumstances and Ser Harrold could only but sit, wait and watch to make his move.

Perhaps the Northern Lords were right. Isabel Arryn could bring down the entire Northern Army, for she now proved to be more important to Robb Stark than anything else.

But Ser Harrold could not help but wonder: Would Robb Stark threaten all of Isabel's dreams of ruling the Vale?

Perhaps then, would be the perfect time for Ser Harrold to steal it from under her nose.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Enjoy! **


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22:

* * *

><p>There were voices whispering above her, and she struggled to listen to their conversations. She tried to open her eyes, but every muscle in her body ached and felt as heavy as lead. She tried to move her head and scream, but no sound came out and each moment was met with a pounding headache.<p>

"She's awake!" called out a voice that sounded like a young boy.

"Careful! Don't move her! She looked like she took quite a tumble," yelled the other.

"You think the man chasing her will find us?" ask another, whose voice sounded familiar to Isabel's ears.

"If we stay here any longer, he might," replied another older boy.

"Well we can't just leave her! Look at her…she's like an angel…I've never seen someone so beautiful."

"Quit your day-dreaming Hot Pie! She'd never marry _you._"

The boys began to wrestle each other, and a fight broke out beside her. The noise made Isabel's head spin and she groaned out in pain. She slowly opened her eyes despite her body screaming for her to stay still and rest. Her vision was blurry and the sudden light that seared through her lids made her eyes blink quickly in an effort to focus in on her surroundings.

A figure was hovering above her, and the large dark eyes bore into her own. The hair masked most of her face, but Isabel could instantly recognize the Northern features of the person who was inches near her face. She opened her mouth to say her name, but Isabel was quickly cut off by her.

"My name's Arry" she mumbled quickly.

"You're…a..ali-" she began to mutter in disbelief, but Arya worried eyes made Isabel stop mid-sentence.

Isabel was confused, but Arya gave her a pleading look and darted her eyes towards the group of boys who had now fallen silent in front of the conscious Isabel. She silently echoed the word, 'no' with her lips and immediately, Isabel understood Arya's intended meaning.

"Where am I?" Isabel groggily asked and she turned to the rest of the boys who remained silently still.

The eldest one was carrying a bull's helmet and nudged his younger counterparts to shake them out of their daze. She turned back to Arya, and patiently waited for an answer.

"We found you by the stream…well Gendry did," Arya told her, "Your ankle was badly injured, and you have cuts and bruises everywhere… and you were hallucinating. There was a man chasing you before you slipped and fell..."

"Hallucinating?"

"Yea…" Gendry added, "You called me Robb."

Isabel's gaze remained fixated on Arya and studied the younger girl's emotions carefully. She saw the worry in her eyes, but she also saw there was a great amount of courage and strength in the young Stark that kept her emotions hidden behind a well-conceived mask.

"Who was he? The sellsword?" asked another boy.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "...everybody is an enemy during war."

"How come you were alone?" asked Arya.

"It's a long story." she said tiredly, "What about you?"

Isabel looked warily at the group of misfit children, all slightly older than Arya. The eldest, was a young man only known as Gendry who was no more than seventeen summers old. He held his bull helmet tightly underneath his arm, and his face as blackened by the dirt and grime. His eyes were dark, and held a penetrating gaze at Isabel.

"Night's Watch – we're all headed for the Wall," Gendry replied, "Except we were ambushed a few nights ago by Lannister men…we barely escaped for our lives. Our guide...Yoren died protecting us."

"Did you come from King's Landing?" Arya asked in a hurry, cutting Gendry off rather abruptly.

"I did," Isabel admitted, before sharing a sad glance at Gendry, "I knew the man you call Yoren…I'm sorry that he's gone."

There was a sad look in Arya's eyes and Isabel thought for a brief moment that she saw a few tears forming in the young girl's eyes. Neither of them dared to bring the beheading of Ned Stark up, instead it was an unspoken sentiment that hung in the air between the two young women.

"How did you escape?" the young Stark girl asked quietly.

"I had an unlikely savior," Isabel spat bitterly, as the image of Petyr Baelish popped up in her mind.

She shuffled her feet, testing what strength she had left and let out a small cry at the pain that shot up her leg. Isabel could feel her ankle throbbing, and cursed herself for getting herself in such a predicament. The sellsword from Volantis was still roaming the forest, looking to kill her and she felt like a lame lamb, with nowhere to escape.

"We never got your name…my Lady," Gendry hesitantly asked, and Isabel was quick to note the slight shade of pink that had developed in his cheeks the moment he asked. His courteousness earned some chuckles and giggles with the younger boys, but a quick punch in the arm had immediately silenced them.

"I am no Lady," she quickly lied.

In times like these, Isabel knew it was best to give as little information about herself to strangers. They may have been accompanying Arya in her escape, but she was still reluctant to put too much trust in these unfamiliar faces.

"Forgive me, but your hands give it all away," he replied and gestured to them which had now been caked in dirt and mud. "They are no black smith's hands, or the hands of a seamstress, or a farmer's wife. Even under all that dirt..they are as smooth as glass and silk."

She let out a small chuckle and tilted her head in acknowledgement of his cleverness and admitting her own defeat. "You have a keen eye."

"I am a black smith…it is my craft to pay attention to such detail," he said bashfully before letting out a small chuckle.

A noise in the distance cut off their conversation and the entire group looked in the same direction, fearful of what lurked behind the trees. Isabel held her breathe and suddenly felt her heart race again. She was beyond the point of exhaustion and did not know how much longer she could go on running before her legs would collapse. Gendry and Isabel looked at one another, each thinking the same horrid thought.

"Can you walk?" asked Arya suddenly, recognizing the growing tension around her.

Isabel proceeded to move her entire body and struggled to pull her weight off the ground. Not wanting to cry out in pain, she bit her tongue each time the sharp throb shot up her body. As she slowly steadied herself, the pain slightly subsided and it took every strength and ounce of determination to fight it. It wasn't unbearable, but she knew it would certainly slow the group down.

"Leave me," she suddenly instructed.

They all looked at her with disbelief and amongst all the cries and objection, but it was Arya that looked at her intently and knew what Isabel meant.

She owed it to Ned Stark to give Arya the chance the live just a little longer and to give her the chance to fight in the name of honour and vengeance.

"We won't leave you," said Gendry, "You can barely walk, let alone fight!"

"They aren't after you," she challenged.

Gendry opened his mouth but stayed quiet, choosing not to argue anymore. It felt as if he expected men to be chasing after him and Isabel suspected that he too had dark secrets that he wanted to keep hidden. Isabel gave a wary glance to Arya and she knew instantly that she too had fears that they were chasing after her.

It seemed like everybody had secrets to keep, and someone was trying to kill them for it.

"You said yourself everybody's an enemy out here…those may be hedge knights looking for a good loot. Those men could be Lannisters, the Gold Cloaks, or your assassin. It won't matter if you're a highborn lady or not. You're coming with us," Gendry pleaded.

"And you all risk certain death should you stay with me. I'll only slow you down," she objected. "You still all have a chance at living…you're young, you have a fire still burning in you that wills you to keep surviving. So go! Leave! Run!"

The noise grew louder and there was little time to argue any further. She gave Arya a nudge to motion her to start running.

"Go!" Isabel yelled again, "There isn't any time!"

"Isabel…" Arya whispered to her, afraid of mentioning her name.

"Run!" she yelled again and desperately fought back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. "_Please..._you need to go now._"_

"I won't leave you," cried Arya.

"You listen to me," Isabel said and grabbed Arya's arms, "You'll get your chance to fight back one day…I know you will. But that day won't happen until you're ready to confront your enemies. Until then, I need you to keep running. You owe it to your father to keep fighting!"

"Aren't you afraid?"

"All the time," she admitted sadly.

Reluctantly, Arya slowly retreated back to the group and tugged on their tunics to motion for them to move. They all held conflicted looks, but Arya was quick to reassure them to keep moving. The dragonglass amulet, hidden underneath Arya's tunic reflected the sun's ray momentarily as Arya began running, and it gave Isabel a sense of relief that the young girl still wore it.

_Protect her,_ she whispered to herself.

She slowly limped to a well-hidden spot behind some bushes and stayed perfectly still, waiting for whatever enemy to emerge from the shadows. The clashes of steel soon erupted through the leaves, causing the birds to fly away. Isabel held her breathe as she felt the ground and soil had begun to vibrate because of the heavy foots that soon pounded on the earth.

"They can't be far," roared a voice.

"Are you sure they went this way? Damn little bastards! I swear I'm gonna kill them!"

"Don't be stupid. The tracks lead in this direction…they were headed for the wall; they've no where else to go but North. We'll find them, don't you worry," the voice sneered.

"I'm gonna pluck them out…limb by limb" snickered another voice.

Their laughter rang through Isabel's ears and she bit her tongue to keep herself from making any sort of noise. She was armed with only a small dagger and ax, and she could not yield either properly in the event that she was forced to fight off the men.

The noise slowly began to the die down, before realizing that the party had decided to move on, leaving her alone in the forest. However, she dared not move her from her spot, afraid they were only simply hiding and waiting for her to come out like a lame lamb.

She clutched tightly at the hilt of her dagger and hugged her herself until exhaustion overcame her once more.

_I am not afraid of anything,_ she kept whispering to herself.

Yet no matter how many times she kept telling herself that, the fear within her grew ever larger with each passing moment and she began to realize just how truly dangerous this game really was.

* * *

><p>"He did <em>what?<em>"

"He let her go," he clarified, unfazed by his counter party's reaction.

Cersei Lannister was beyond furious, and it deepened the hatred she already had for her youngest brother.

"How can you be so sure it was him?"

"I trust my sources," Petyr Baelish merely stated. He was careful not to overstep his boundaries this time with the Queen. Only a few days earlier did she dutifully remind him of his place within the court.

_Power is power._

The words still haunted him and it made him even more determined to prove his own worth.

_Knowledge is power,_ he said to himself.

"Isabel Arryn was the one thing we needed to keep within our reach to prevent the Vale from entering this war., Varys may as well have handed Joffrey's throne to her!" she yelled in a fury.

"A minor disadvantage, but I don't believe it's a total defeat," he mused.

It was all too easy to pinpoint Isabel's escape on her half-friend, half-ally. As sly as the Master of Whispers was, sometimes Petyr Baelish could be twice as conniving as him. He knew Varys would neither deny or confirm his accusations against him – Varys was careful to maintain a neutral stance between houses, but Petyr Baelish had his suspicions.

"Enlighten me, Lord Baelish. We are losing our pawns – Arya, Ned and now Isabel. What else do we have against them?"

"Your Grace forgets that the Vale still stands currently divided," he dutifully reminded her, "There are those that will oppose her, if given the opportunity."

"And these lords…are they our friends? Or our enemies?" Cersei slyly answered, but remained unconvinced.

"Give any man a few hundred gold dragons, and they'll be crawling to you like children," Petyr knowingly replied. "Support her brother's claims and you will divide their forces in half, and at the very least level the war once again. Give back Robert Arryn and his mother the Vale…and you may rid of Isabel Arryn altogether."

"And…you can do this? Are you sure?"

"There are those who write to me pleading for help and support, in the name of Lysa Arryn. Our little bird has locked her brother and step-mother away in a tower…this may be her answer to all her troubles…and the solution to yours. If Isabel Arryn chooses to ride out for Robb Stark, she rides out with half her bannermen. The other half…well, they're biding their time."

Cersei pursed her lips. She was getting desperate lately and even more paranoid ever since word had spread that her father had suffered a huge defeat from the Stark army. Her brother's fate was still yet unknown, and the leverage they had against the other houses were dwindling. Isabel Arryn would have been a great tool to use against Robb Stark, and for a short period of time it had prevented the Vale from calling their banners. But since her attack, it gave enough cause to turn the war's tide and now Robb Stark's army gradually increased, proving to be a formidable threat to the Lannister forces.

Power was her only ambition, and she would do anything to keep it. Cersei Lannister was done playing politics with Isabel Arryn. She was done playing a game of shadows with the Arryn girl. The wrath of the lioness was unleashed – she was done playing nice. In Cersei's eyes, Isabel Arryn deserved to be punished.

"Then you shall write to the young Lord Robert and his mother and extend a hand of friendship," she demanded.

"And what does the Iron Throne offer the true Lord of the Vale?" he asked.

"In return for absolute fealty and service…Joffrey will recognize Robert Arryn as the true Lord of the Vale, and we will charge Isabel Arryn and all those who support her with treason. Those who choose not to bow to my son...will be executed, their lands pillaged, their women raped and their children hung. And should you carry out this task with due success, Lord Baelish…I will ensure that our true king will have you rightfully rewarded."

Petyr could only bow in a low curtesy without giving away his triumphant smile that now appeared on his face.

His moves were made – now it was only a matter of time before the game changed once again.

* * *

><p>The sun had started to rise from the horizon when Isabel decided it was safe to move from her spot, still hidden behind the bushes. She had not moved since she parted with Arya and her party, nor had she dared to fall asleep.<p>

And she didn't think she could go on for much longer.

It had been days since she last had a proper meal or fresh water. Her body was weak, bruised, blistered, and broken and every movement she made felt extremely painful. What strength and hope she had left was now gone – she didn't even know how far from King's Landing she had travelled. She could still have been in the Crown lands, or in the forests of Riverrun.

Isabel felt hopelessly defeated.

She slowly dragged her feet and willed her body to move forward to find some fresh water. Her hand still clutched the dagger she now possessed and promised herself to never let it go, should another attempt on her life should happen.

The sounds of running water perked her senses up and almost immediately she changed directions and quickened her pace. Isabel broke out of the trees and found herself staring at a small stream and felt her throat tightened, begging Isabel to quench its thirst.

She wasted no time and Isabel practically flung herself to the ground and cupped the cold liquid in her hands and brought it to her dry lips.

The water felt refreshing and it sent a shiver through her skin, and resurged her senses. It gave her a necessary energy boost and a renewed sense of strength, convincing her body and mind that she could keep fighting.

Isabel's hair was suddenly pulled back and she screamed out loud, cutting the silent forest with a sharp shriek.

"Well well well…look what we found here boys. Aren't you a pretty little flower," a low voice sneered.

The man gripped her hair with such force that she stumbled back and fell on the floor, dropping her dagger that now had laid a few feet away from her. The man forced her to turn around and she could only gaze into his menacing brown eyes. He bore no sigil, no armour and no great sword, leaving Isabel to think he was a poor hedge knight, a sellsword, or just a bandit looking for some good loot.

The rest of his party joined in behind him, and the remainder of them stood by the tree line and only looked on and laughed at her. They were all tattered soldiers, dressed in dirtied armour with their sigils scratched off, as if they had all forsaken their vows. Isabel failed to recognize any of them, and a dark feeling sank to the bottom of her stomach.

"What's a little lady like you doing in such a dangerous place? No one to protect you…no one to hear you scream." he mockingly asked her, caressing her face.

She lunged forward in an effort to run away, but the man only pulled on her hair again and brought her back to her knees once more. Isabel reached up and grabbed his wrist and used every ounce of her strength and dug her nails into and skin and scratched them like a feline cat.

It was a pitiful effort, but she felt the man loosen his grip and it was enough for her to wriggle her way out. Immediately she bolted to the dagger which was lying on the floor, but her fingers could only graze the steel before she was dragged back down to the floor again.

She let out another piercing scream, before the man forced her on her back and now towered over her.

"Quiet, little one," he threatened. "Do you know who we are? Hmm?"

Isabel whimpered and let out a small cry in protest, which only made her assailant chuckle.

"We're outlaws, you see…plucked from our honour as knights and condemned to a life of pillaging in the forests. Damn the Lannisters…damn all the great houses who piss on their chairs and drink their wine, while the common folk are near starving."

He placed his hand on her face to remove the hair that stuck to the sweat and grime of her skin, and roughly caressed her cheek. He opened his mouth and smiled, revealing a rather grotesque set of yellowing teeth and a stench of bad breathe.

"Ahh..even under all that soot, I know who you are," he said amusingly. "You'd fetch a pretty price…"

She widened her eyes, wondering if he was telling the truth, or merely playing a cruel mind game. She looked at her only hope and she reached out to grab her dagger, but was only a fingernail shy of grasping it fully. Isabel yelled out in frustration, suddenly angry at herself for ever getting herself in this situation.

The cold northern wind suddenly picked up and it prickled her exposed skin. The howls swirled around her, and in her deluded state she swore to the Seven that she heard voices around her.

_Fight back, little bird,_ the voices whispered.

It gave her enough strength to reach out once more and she cried out when her fingers finally wrapped around the hilt of the cold steel. Its touch ignited a fire within her and within seconds she stabbed the blade into the man's shoulder, before he got any further.

He yelled out in pain and his weight came off her body in an instant. She was quick to pull out the blade from his flesh and she crawled back a few feet, completely unsure of what to do next.

The other men whose laughter now died out unsheathed their own swords and made their way to her, ready to kill her for harming their brother in arms.

"You damn bitch!" the man yelled, "When I'm through with you, you may well as call yourself the whore of Westeros!"

A large and ferocious growl erupted in the air, sending all the birds to flee the area. The other men stopped in their tracks, unsure of what beast now threatened their surroundings. Isabel's own body shook in fear, but she was careful not to let her guard down and kept her gaze at the men in front of her.

The roar erupted again, but this time it sounded angrier and louder, indicating it was fast approaching them.

"What the seven hells was that?" asked of the men.

"Probably just a wolf…it'll make a nice meal later. Come on…get the girl. The sooner we have her in chains, the sooner we can sell her off!"

"That is no wolf," she found herself saying to them.

"The bitch speaks," the man mockingly said.

"You will watch your tongue," she threatened, "Or I will cut it out."

The men could only laugh at her and ignored her seemingly empty threat. They motioned each other to surround her, so she had no way of escaping again. Isabel gripped her dagger even tighter, and her breathe quicken as they inched closer and closer around her.

"Little girls shouldn't play with swords."

The growl of the beast was now dangerously close to the tree line, and the branches and leaves now rustled, showing his movements. Her eyes darted towards the forest and she closed her eyes, praying to whatever gods could hear her for her greatest wish possible.

The beast suddenly leaped through the air and into the opening, and growled at the men, as if they were prey. She wasted no time and she ran past the men as she saw the direwolf now pouncing up in the air again, ready attack the group of men.

Through the screams, growls and cries, she dared not look back at what massacre was happening but knew deep in her heart that it was a sign from the gods that her prayers had been answered.

A force behind her suddenly sent her flying forward and her face connected with the ground. She felt a cut open on her cheek and the slight stinging sensation that followed.

"I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do," the man menacingly whispered to her.

He wrestled her until he hovered over her again and he gripped his hands around her throat and tightened them in an effort to completely rob Isabel of her breathe. She gasped for air and quickly used her hands to feel around her for the weapon that once again disappeared from her.

This time, it was well within her reach, and in the man's desperation to end her life, he had failed to notice the blade that now went through his neck.

His eyes bulged out and his tongue fell out, shocked at the blade that now was embedded in his throat. His hands remained around Isabel's neck, and she pried his fingers off her skin, to loosen his grip and welcome the fresh air again. The blood, which now poured out of the man's neck dripped on to Isabel's face and down her own arm, coating his murder and death on her skin.

_The next time you kill a man, there will be no fear, _the voiced whispered in her head.

She slowly pushed him off her, until he lied on the ground beside her. The man, now choking in his own blood only looked at her with fear and horror, and his eyes were now begging her for a merciful quick death.

But instead of granting him his one last living wish, she merely stared at him and did nothing. She became mesmerized by the blood that poured out of his body, and watched his breathe slowly leave him, until he became completely still and silent.

"There is no mercy in war," she distantly whispered to herself.

A deep huff of air tingled at the back of her neck and she slowly turned around, only to be inches away from the direwolf's mouth. She held her breathe, afraid of the great beast that had grown to nearly twice its size. He showed his teeth to her and growl at her as if her was testing Isabel, as his nose sniffed the fresh blood that dripped from her skin.

_I am not afraid,_ she told herself.

Isabel was suddenly startled when the direwolf bowed his head down at her and began to lick the blood off her hand, as a sign of acceptance and familiarity.

It brought instant relief to her and she gave the beast an affectionate pet and she cried out for the very first time, letting the tears of joy, sadness and fear overcome her.

Movement within the trees behind her brought her guard back up again and she whipped around with her dagger at hand, ready to defend herself once more.

Isabel felt her knees falter and what little strength she had now completely left her, sending her entire body to collapse on the floor. She brought her hand to cover her mouth, in an effort to muffle her cries.

She was instantly engulfed in his furs, and the warmth of his body made her feel safe once more. She looked up at him, and touched his face, unsure if she was hallucinating again, due to her deprived state.

He wiped the hair, dirt and blood off her face and placed a hundred affectionate kisses on her brow and forehead and tightly held her in his arms, not ever wanting to let her go.

"This is a dream," she cried out, "You can't be real…you can't be here."

"Shhh…" he soothed and he petted the back of her head to comfort her shaking body.

"This is a dream," she deliriously repeated.

"This is no dream Isabel," he whispered to her. "I'm here. I'm real…you're safe now."

He picked her up with little effort, surprised at how light she was and began to worry about her deteriorating state. He noted the large amount of blood that was on her as well as the torn tunic she wore which barely concealed the festering wound on her collarbone. Her body was shaking uncontrollably, the cold air now penetrating through her skin and robbing her of warmth. He had to get her to a warm bed and to their army's healer, afraid that whatever strength she willed herself to keep alive was now dying out.

But she was safe now, and that's all that mattered. Isabel Arryn was back in his arms, back in his life and he promised himself that nobody would tear them apart again.

_Damn them all._

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Ahhhhh! Our little bird and young wolf finally meet at last! Thanks for waiting so patiently...I know it took quite a long time, but I think it was worth it! But will their happy reunion be torn apart by our on-going war? Stay tuned! xoxo_**


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23:

Catelyn Stark watched with increasing worry at the state of her eldest son. Robb Stark had coming storming back to their camp in the middle of the night, having found Isabel Arryn at the edge of death's door on King's Road in the Riverlands. The moment he had dismounted his horse, he had called for their healer to tend to the Arryn girl.

He did not eat, did not sleep and did not leave her side since his return. Though Catelyn could only admire the undeniably devotion her son showed towards Jon Arryn's daughter, she was thoroughly concerned at what consequences of Isabel Arryn's presence could have.

The Northern Lords had made it known early that they did not trust her and their pre-judgment had resulted in a less than warm welcoming towards the Valemen when they had finally decided to provide aide and support to Robb's army. To add further complications, Catelyn Stark had forged an alliance to House Frey with the agreement that Robb be betrothed to either a daughter or grand-daughter of Lord Walder Frey.

Catelyn Stark had every reason to be concerned about the future of her son. She had nothing against Isabel Arryn, but Catelyn knew that she would be a distraction, and cause Robb to neglect his responsibilities as Lord of Winterfell.

Perhaps if things were different, she would have been elated that Isabel and Robb had rekindled their romance. But times had now changed and greater things were now at stake. Her husband was dead, her daughters were missing, Bran was a cripple and Robb was leading the Northern army into war.

Her life had been turned upside down, and all her fears were slowly becoming a reality.

She walked into the tent and the image that bore in front of her looked like a frozen moment within time. Isabel had not woken and remained perfectly still underneath a pile of warm furs and blanket, while Robb sat beside her bed, his position unchanged since she last spoke to him.

He looked extremely tired, but he dared not sleep should anything happen to Isabel.

"You need rest," Catelyn said, "You cannot lead a war if you are not mentally sound."

"I cannot leave her," he challenged. "You should understand…what if this was Bran?"

It now seemed like a distant memory, but Catelyn forced herself to remember spending each day and night looking after Bran Stark after he fell from the old watch tower. The thought of her younger son made Catelyn's heart long to be home with her youngest children. She missed them so much and wanted nothing more to hold them in her arms.

"Your lords are waiting for you," she dutifully reminded him, "You cannot drop your responsibilities because of Isabel."

"You weren't there when I found her. I almost didn't recognize her…she was thin and pale as a ghost. Her clothes were torn and there was blood everywhere. I can't even begin to imagine what she went through…and it makes me even angrier to think that this is all the Lannister's fault. I'll kill them all for this…I swear it. I'll kill them all for everything they've done to our family…to father."

"And what would she want you to do?" she challenged, growing frustrated that he was not able to see reason. "Would she want you to stay by her bedside, or would she want you to fight? To lead? To rule?"

The air around them became tense. With each passing moment, Catelyn Stark began to recognize that Robb Stark had now grown up, and she could no longer control and guide him like a little lost child anymore. He was the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North; it was his time to rule in his own conscience.

She could see the inner turmoil in her son's eyes, and felt sympathy for him. He knew he saw truth in her words, yet his heart was telling him to stay and watch over Isabel.

Yet sometimes the mind and the heart never come to terms, and the inevitable choice of choosing one over the other had to be made.

"She would want me to resume my responsibilities," he hurtfully admitted to himself, "If it were me lying unconscious, she would have done the same."

"Then do not disappoint her. Win this war, and rise to be the leader I know you are," Catelyn declared.

Reluctantly, Robb Stark stood up, but not before placing one last kiss on Isabel's forehead. He seemed taller than before, as if he stood with more pride and confidence. Tears threatened to fall from Catelyn's eyes when she could see the shadows of Ned's features in Robb.

He was every bit of his father's son and she was so proud of him. She gave him a reassuring squeeze, one of a motherly support that he was doing the right thing.

"Send for me the instant she wakes up," he instructed.

"Robb," she hesitantly began. "You cannot lose focus…there is too much at stake now."

"I know what I must do."

"I worry for you my son. I am happy that you have found Isabel…but you also must remember what you agreed to Lord Walder Frey. You promised him you'd marry."

"I haven't forgotten," he said, though he did nothing to hide his displeasure.

"You _must_ honour your promise…their loyalty is dependant on that."

"Don't you think I know that?" he suddenly snapped. "Every time I walk past a Frey I am reminded at the fact that I must marry a Frey girl. Every time they speak up in council, or raise their sigil I am reminded at the fact that I broke my promise to Isabel. Don't you think I know where my responsibilities lie? I am the Lord of Winterfell now…I know the sacrifices I have to make. Isabel knows that too."

He said the last part in a quiet sad whisper, and Catelyn Stark could do nothing but look on with pity and sadness.

"I trust you to use your judgment wisely," she said in an effort to comfort her son.

Hiding behind his mask again, the raw emotions disappeared from his face and the cold, distant warrior emerged from the shadows sending shivers into Catelyn's skin. It was a horrible game, in her opinion that haunted those who yearned for power.

There was the life that promised power, honour and duty, and the other life that promised love and happiness; and no one could choose both.

_Sacrifices must be made,_ the voice whispered.

And she would ensure that her son would choose the right path to take – even if it meant robbing him of his own happiness.

* * *

><p>Petyr Baelish stood proudly by the window sill as he watched the raven carrying his letter to Lysa Arryn's supporters. As requested by the Queen Regent, he would try to broker an alliance with Lysa and her son. It was an easy solution to all their worries and he wondered to himself why he didn't think of this any sooner.<p>

In his opinion, the high lords gave Isabel Arryn too much credit. She was a strong figure for those around her, and her father had raised her well, yet Petyr Baelish knew that whatever power she desired, she simply did not have enough malice in her heart to hold it.

"Am I interrupting?" a voice broke out.

Petyr Baelish turned around, surprised to see the recently appointed Hand of the King standing before him with a look of suspicion. Tyrion Lannister has returned shortly after Ned Stark's execution, and in his light hearted humour, had angered the Queen by taking place as Hand of the King.

"Not at all," he amusingly said. "What can I do for you, my Lord?"

He looked at his smaller counterpart with an ample amount of suspicion and wonder.

"I hear my sister has put you up to sing a certain little song into Lysa Arryn's ears. I wonder…what trouble are you brewing, Lord Baelish?"

Petyr Baelish smiled as his smaller counterpart, and placed his hands behind in back and motion for the Lannister to walk alongside him. "I'm simply following the Queen's order, your Grace…helping to keep Joffrey's throne, forming alliances, and trying to keep this city from drowning in debt."

Tyrion Lannister pursed his lips. "Alliances are best made not with threats. If we want to bind our enemies to us, there is something else we must do."

"I'm not sure I quite follow."

"I was there when Isabel Arryn claimed her father's seat…they adore her; most of them anyways. They won't easily be persuaded in switching sides – not when she actually _is_ the better Arryn heir to rule. I know what you do best…you'll most likely wave a few pouches of gold and women and hope they'll sway to your side. My lord, that will be the most foolish thing to assume."

"So what do you suggest?" he asked suspiciously. Tyrion Lannister was not a friend of his, and an uneasy feeling pricked him like a thorn at his side.

"We all know that marriage is the most secure form of friendship. We have a young princess that is not yet betrothed, and Lysa has a young son that will one day marry and continue the Arryn line. Isn't it most obvious? Of course, the Queen _must_ not know. I wouldn't want my poor dear sister to worry about this…she already has enough trouble controlling her other children."

"And why would I want to do this for you?"

Tyrion Lannister smiled. He loved this game; the game of wits. It was his strength and his pride. He had longed for this day and now he was amongst some of the most brilliant minds of the realm.

"Why…for the good of the kingdom, of course! Stannis Baratheon is on the verge of attacking King's Landing by the sea. My father is losing men in the Riverlands, and King's Landing is left defenseless from all sides should we be attacked. The Vale has ships and could launch a surprise counter attack against Stannis buying us time to strengthen our city defenses. Should we fail to broker an alliance, I'd imagine Isabel Arryn joining Robb Stark's war, outnumbering my father's troops and we'll face now not only one army, but two armies; one by sea and one by land. I don't know about you, my lord…but I like where my head is – attached to my body."

"I serve the throne, not your family's house. I care not who sits on the Iron throne. What do I get out of this?"

"Harrenhal," Tyrion replied wistfully.

Petyr Baelish laughed bitterly. "I've been promised that cursed castle more than enough times. You'll have to do better than that."

"Then what about Lord Regent of the Vale?"

He looked at the Hand of the King disbelievingly, and narrowed his eyes at him. "Do not play me for a fool!"

"I never mistook you for one, my lord. It's what you always wanted, am I not correct? Young Robert needs a father figure, and a strong mind if he wants to rule his lands. I'd say…you are the perfect man for the job."

The frown on Petyr's lips slowly turned into a devilish smile, though he was quick to mask his true feelings from Tyrion. This was his chance, he thought to himself. This was his chance to prove to the realm just how dangerous Petyr Baelish of the Fingers was.

_Let the games begin._

* * *

><p>Her eyes flickered opened at the howl of the cold winds. She was engulfed in a blanket of soft furs, but Isabel could still feel the cold air prickling her skin. Her body was sore, and told her to go back asleep, but her mind was now sharp and alert, suddenly aware of the peaceful surroundings.<p>

It was nighttime, and there were many candles that illuminated the tent was resting in. She panicked for a passing moment, thinking she was in a Lannister camp, but a huge sense of relief quickly washed over her when she suddenly remembered his face emerging from the horizon line. She had almost refused to believe that she was fully awake, but instead in a dream.

The flap of the tent opened, revealing a young woman dressed in a blue dress and white apron carrying a basin of water. Isabel took her to be a field nurse, or healer and noted the dark skin the women had – an unusual feature for natives of Westoros.

The nurse smiled at the sight of Isabel's conscious state and quickly set down the basin and rushed over to her.

"Thank the gods you've woken up!" she said in a slightly accented tongue.

Isabel opened her mouth to speak, but noted it was raspy and rough. The nurse quickly went to go fetch a cup of water and slowly motioned for Isabel to drink some.

The water felt cold, yet invigorating down her throat and she almost choked causing her to cough and spilling some down her neck.

"You were out for nearly a week," the girl explained. "A thin and pale as a ghost….cold to touch, and your wounds had begun to fester. They say it was a miracle that King Robb found you…they said his direwolf could sense you…"

'K-King Robb?" Isabel managed to sputter out.

The nurse smiled warmly, "I suppose a lot has happened since. The lords have declared him as King of the North…and they've captured a Lannister of some importance whom they call, Kingslayer. You must forgive, my Lady…I am not from these lands…I am unfamiliar with the houses."

"No apologies are needed," Isabel assured her.

True enough, the faint shouts of the Northern army could be heard beyond the tent. They were shouting for their King, over and over again. They were celebrating at the victories their King had won for them.

Isabel pulled herself up and proceeded to move her body off from her bed, much to the nurses' objection.

"You should still be resting, my Lady. I will send word to his Grace that you've woken...but you're still weak, and you need to regain your strength."

"I've rested long enough," Isabel protested. "I need to see him."

With the reluctant help of the nurse, Isabel slowly but surely stood up. Her body wobbled at the sudden movement, and threatened to collapse, if it wasn't for the help of the young girl that was holding nearly half her weight. The nurse draped a cloak of fur over Isabel's frail and weakened body to protect her from the cold winds that emerged under the moonlight.

Together, they hobbled rather awkwardly out of Isabel's tent, where the cold winds hit her face, and whipped her hair out of her loose braid. Her body slightly shivered at the change in temperature, but Isabel welcomed it.

It meant she was still alive, and the welcome of the chills and the cold air that flowed into her lungs. The chants and laughter of the men now grew louder and she smiled when she saw the sigil of her own house flying proudly alongside the Stark's flag and their bannermen.

The Vale had not forgotten her, she thought and quickened her pace, anxious to meet her men and give them a moral boost.

As she approached the crowds of the army, she could see his smiling face in the far distance. He was amongst his lords, and laughing with his men in good gesture. Many of the knights approached him as if he were a brother, and one by one, Robb Stark took the time to shake each man's hand.

And as if he knew she was present, he looked up sending a jolt of excitement through her heart. She held his gaze, and for a while, they merely stared at one another from a distance, neither daring to move from their spots like a pair of old lovers. His smiled grew and his eyes lit and in that moment, he had forgotten that there were a slew of Northern lords and knights all waiting to speak with him.

One by one, the entire army turned their heads to see what had distracted their newly anointed king and quiet murmurs between the knights emerged.

Isabel motioned for the nurse to help her walk towards Robb, and she slowly limped into the midst of hardened veteran knights. Some of had recognized her immediately bowed their heads, while others just followed suit. The Valemen were quick to bow and thank the Seven for their ladies' recovery and shouted in happiness and relief.

Ser Harrold Hardyng emerged from the crowd and gave a low bow in front of her. "It brings much relief to me that you're safe, my Lady. "

Isabel smiled and gave a small nod, "I can only offer my humble humility and gratefulness, my dear cousin. I hear your efforts have been most courageous. I thank you, a thousand times over."

"Your safety was our utmost priority. We will make sure the Lannisters will pay for their treachery."

"And they will," Isabel declared, "Let us talk in private later. We have much to discuss…I wish to know what news the Eyrie brings."

Ser Harrold bowed his head and consent before retreating back into the crowd. As the men cleared a path for her, Robb Stark, their new king was quick to run and meet Isabel, who now stood only inches away from her.

His smile never left his face, and he was unsure of how to react. Isabel, still weak from her injuries had tears that were forming near the edges of eyes, in disbelief that he was now standing in front of her.

At that moment, all she wanted to do was to kiss him.

"I-Isa-Isabel," he sputtered out, unable to find words.

Isabel slowly gave a curtsey and bowed her head, "Your Grace."

He proceeded to reach out to touch her cheek, but a cough from behind brought him out of his reverie, and his hand went back by his side, momentarily confusing Isabel though she remained silent.

"We've prayed every day to the new gods and old for your recovery," he said almost automatically.

"And I thank you, your Grace…I thank every single lord and knight standing here. I pray for the lives that were lost in my name. They will not be forgotten by me, nor my people," she dutifully replied.

"We are relieved that you are safe, my Lady." shouted Ser Bryden Tully from the crowd. "Make no mistake, the Lannisters will get their justice."

Isabel's gaze never left his face, and she noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes, and slight frown that appeared on his lips. He wasn't the boy she knew that lived in Winterfell anymore, nor the boy yearning for love. The man in front of her was now a king, and the dark voice began to whisper in her head, and she felt the dark shadow lingering behind her.

Catelyn Stark emerged from behind her son, whose concerned look could not be hidden behind the warm smile she gave. "Isabel, how wonderful to see you! We were very worried about you," she commented.

Isabel hadn't seen Catelyn Stark since her visit to the Eyrie. She too, looked tired and could only assume that the war had begun to take a toll on both mother and son. Isabel soon wondered what her own appearance looked like. She couldn't remember the last time she ate, and could only wonder what scars would be left behind from all the injuries she had received.

Catelyn Stark nodded to the nurse, a silent demand that Isabel was to be brought back to the tent to rest, despite Isabel's insistence to stay.

"You'll have plenty of time to talk later," Catelyn whispered quietly into Isabel's ear. "But for now, you need to regain your strength. Go now, rest."

Their eyes flickered to each other for another moment, only to be torn apart as the lords began to call for their king, and as Isabel was being led back to her tent.

* * *

><p>Ser Harrold Hardyng's mood soured for the remainder of the night, and he found himself unable to replace the frown on his face with a smile. The men among him continued to laugh and drink, but he no longer found enjoyment in their company.<p>

The sight of his cousin amongst the Northern army made him uncomfortable. He was relieved that she was alive, but there was a voice in his head that told him otherwise.

"You must be relieved that your lady has returned to safety," a voice broke out.

Ser Harrold turned around, and his frown grew deeper at older man. It was known throughout the realm that House Frey had questionable intentions and loyalty. No man ever completely trusted a Frey, and always knew they were vying to strengthen their families' position in the Seven Kingdoms.

Black Walder Frey was taller than Ser Harrold, with a thick black beard, and thick black hair. He had a reputation that was feared among the younger knights, and was hated by most of his family, despite being third in line for the seat at the Twins.

Ser Harrold had no reason to speak to Lord Frey, and was immediately suspicious why he chose to strike a conversation with him at all.

"Relieved is an understatement," Ser Harrold vaguely replied.

"You don't seem happy about it though," Lord Frey observed.

The Vale knight remained silent, hoping that his unwillingness to talk would make the Frey leave him alone. On the contrary, however, Black Walder Frey remained persistent.

"You're not the only one who's not happy about it," he muttered, before taking a swig of ale from his cup. "We all know the rumours between your lady and his Grace. We all know they were betrothed…you saw the look on their faces. They looked like a pair of sick lovebirds, it makes me want to hurl! You'd think that Robb Stark forgotten his promise to my father."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ser Harrold replied, not wanting to listen to the man talk.

"Of course you do!" Lord Frey yelled, and nudged the younger knight in the shoulder. "The Stark boy and my father have an agreement! And I'll not your little _whore_ of a lady ruin that alliance. Robb is to marry a _Frey,_ not an _Arryn._"

"If you come here to insult my cousin's name, then insult her…but not without a sword in your hand," Ser Harrold quietly threatened.

"I saw the look on your face when she was just standing there. You bear no love towards your lady," Lord Frey continued, ignoring Ser Harrold's threats. "I know you have a claim to the Eyrie. You and I…we're not so different. So close to our thrones, yet just slightly out of our grasp."

"What are you implying?" he asked suspiciously.

Black Walder Frey roughly put his arm around the knight's shoulders and brought him closer so they were now huddled together like drunk brother-in-arms.

"If you watch out our interests….we'll watch out for yours," he slyly suggested.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Enjoy! What new schemes are brewing now?! Also, I****'ve decided to use Talisa's character, following the tv series slightly. -xoxo  
><strong>


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24:**

The cold winds sent a sharp chill down Isabel's spine, as she shivered in the cloak of fur that had surrounded her recovering body. Her wounds were healing now, and Talisa, the nurse from Volantis, was quick to note that a faint rosy colour had now returned to her face in the recent days. The hollowness of her cheeks had begun to fill out, and Isabel had begun to feel stronger as each day and night passed.

Yet despite her body growing stronger, she felt her mind completely exhausted and defeated.

The tent flapped wide open, sending in a dull dim daylight into the small confined space. Isabel blinked quickly to readjust her eyes, and looked at her visitor with a mixture of eagerness, frustration, and wary.

Ser Harrold Hardyng was her cousin, related to her through the Arryn line, yet she was never particularly close with him. He was older than her, and was sent away to live with another lord in the Vale after his own parents died when he was younger. Despite being third in line for the Vale, Isabel Arryn never thought of Ser Harrold Hardyng as anything more than distant kin. By the time Ser Harrold became a young squire, Isabel had already left for King's Landing, and the two cousins had never really seen each other since.

"Dear cousin," she greeted warmly.

Ser Harrold Hardyng removed his helmet, revealing a tired and dirtied face. Yet underneath the soot and fatigue, Isabel noted the youthfulness in his hazel brown eyes, and an intense gaze that reminded her of her own passion as well as a certain handsomeness that reminded her of the face of Jamie Lannister.

He took Isabel's hand and squeezed it gently, before lighting placing a peck on her cheek as a sign of affectionate and familiarity with her. Despite their estrangement, they were still family and bound by Arryn blood.

"You look better every day, dear Isabel," he lightly remarked.

"Thank you Harrold," she replied. "What news do you bring from the Eyrie?"

Her home was all she thought about over the last few days while she was still resting. Soon after she woke, the Northern Army had marched out again, leaving Isabel alone along with the injured, sick and servants that were left running around the fields. Lady Catelyn Stark had departed not long after to the Stormlands in an attempt to broker an alliance between them commanded by her son.

Amongst all the chaos and war, Isabel could do nothing but brood over her home, and where the loyalties of her men were.

Her cousin gestured towards a seat, and Isabel nodded at him, allowing him to sit in her presence. She brought him two empty cups as he reached over to the jug of wine sitting on the wooden table and poured himself a generous glass, and handed Isabel a smaller portion.

"What were you thinking when you rode off into Tywin's camp? Did you honestly think you would have been able to persuade him to stop him?" he suddenly asked.

Isabel closed her eyes momentarily, secretly hoping that her foolish mistake would be long forgotten. "I was wrong," she simply said. "I underestimated his character...and I overestimated my own."

"You almost got yourself killed," he scolded.

"More than once, I assure you…and I don't intend on getting myself killed anytime soon."

"I rode with an army when your council received news of your return to King's Landing. That's barely even a third of the Valemen you have at your disposal…and we joined this war because of you. We've lost many lives already, fighting for Robb's cause. I need to know Isabel…are we in this war or not? If we are…you need to convince Lord Nestor Royce and the rest of your council to raise the rest of your houses."

Isabel remained silent, slowly taking all this information in. It was the first time that she would hold her first war council, even it was just a private conversation between her cousin. All her life, she had dreamt of leading an army, winning battles and ruling the Vale, and the time had finally come where her dreams were becoming a reality.

And it scared her.

This wasn't a game anymore – yet King's Landing only taught her how to play games.

"Do we have a reason to stay in this war? Or are we to go home?" she wondered out loud to herself.

Ser Harrold gave out a large and heavy sigh. "That depends on you, Isabel. You can claim that the Eyrie will continue to avenge the injustice brought upon you…that you won't stop until all the Lannisters are dead in this realm. Or you could run away back to the Eyrie…the choice is really yours. You know Lord Nestor Royce will support you, as well as everybody else in your council."

"But will _all_ my bannermen come? You know of my situation with my brother. They _will_ use this opportunity to steal my titles away from me. I cannot fight two battles at once. I fight her, or I fight the Lannisters," she said tiredly.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Lysa Arryn," Ser Harrold said truthfully, "Lord Nestor Royce has her guarded day and night, and all her letters are intercepted. We know who her allies are, and we're watching all of them. If there's a plot brewing to overthrow you…we'll know."

Ser Harrold bit the inside of his tongue, trying not to give away any hint of betrayal. Unbeknownst to his own consciousness, he had already begun to spiral down the path of corruption. In his mind, Isabel Arryn would be so consumed with Lysa Arryn and Robb Stark that she would never expect what he was already planning.

"And what of this war? Where does the Vale stand with Robb Stark and his army?" she asked.

"They're true Northerners…they hold a certain amount of suspicious against all of us. But King Robb has been most generous to us. He treats us well, and heeds my council where it concerned you. But he has held us back in from his main lines. I figured he did it because he hoped we would spend our resources finding you…and we did, thank the Seven! He's instead ordered me to send the Valemen mostly on scouting missions otherwise, gathering intelligence and tracking our enemies."

_King Robb._ It was a title that still sounded foreign to her, and his name made her heart ache. Their short-lived reunion felt like only a few short seconds, before she was whisked away by the nurse, and he into battle.

Isabel remained completely silent and stared into her full cup of wine, which she now held in her lap, torn between two wars that she felt herself losing already.

"The last time I made a decision by myself I was taken prisoner and someone tried to kill me – twice. I will not make this decision without the rest of my council," she admitted.

She looked at her cousin, but his face did not give her any indication of his thought or feeling. He remained perfectly still, waiting for her to finish her thoughts.

"I am…still recovering...it will be weeks before I would be able to travel anyways," she began slowly. "I will write to Lord Nestor Royce, and we will determine our position in this war from there. If we choose to stay, I will call all my bannermen…and we will truly see who is a loyal friend to the Vale. For now, we will use what men we have left and aide Robb should he need it. But we will promise him no more resources until my council is heard," she finally said after some reluctance.

Ser Harrold nodded in agreement, took one last gulp of his now empty cup and placed it back on the tray. "Between you and me, dear cousin…loyalty, honour, and strength is only gained through the victories of battles. If you want to win favour from your lords…you need to win a war."

"There are many types of war," she replied. "Not all of them are with a sword and shield."

"No…but those are the ones that history remembers."

"Perhaps history should start remembering other wars," she said bitterly.

Ser Harrold picked up his helmet from the table, and proceeded to leave. However the voice in his head that he could not simply ignore baited him to start weaving his web of lies and deception.

If he wanted chaos to unfold, this was now the time to plant his seeds.

"I hear our King of the North will return tonight, with the Freys by his side. He's ordered Lord Bolton to move further south into the Riverlands, while we move camp to plan our next attack," he began.

Isabel furrowed her brows in slight confusion, "Robb has split his army?"

"It's how he deceived Jamie Lannister the first time around…it seems to be working in his favour for now. And the Freys...well, they've kept to their word. They've been quite useful to Robb in recent days."

"I did not know that House Frey was worthy of such an honourable mention," she dryly stated, knowing the full extent of their character and reputation.

"Reputation aside, my lady…the Freys have proved their worth to our dear King. Afterall, King Robb will wed one of the girls when this war is over."

She blankly stared at Ser Harrold, unsure if the words were actually spoken, and she looked at her older cousin suspiciously.

"What do you mean….Robb is to marry a Frey?" she asked slowly.

Feigning ignorance, Ser Harrold continued to press on, "It was part of the agreement, otherwise Robb's army would have never been able to cross the Twins and defeat Jamie Lannister. I thought…you knew Isabel. I'm…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything..."

She shook her head and urged him not to apologize. As he left her tent, she felt her whole world spin and her body weaken once again.

_How cruel and ironic life can be,_ she bitterly thought and felt her fists clenched, feeling her nails dig into her skin.

It seemed so long ago that she had promised Varys to marry the Targaryen Beggar King in order to secure her claim to the Vale.

Now the tables had turned - Robb had promised himself to another for the sake of his army.

She could not help the tears that formed and fell from her eyes and she struggled to hold back the small whimper that came from her throat. Isabel felt foolish for thinking that she could have the dream she had wanted.

The voice came back, like a cold and eerie whisper that swirled with the cold winds. The candle on the small wooden table in her tent flickered violently, casting the dark and fiery shadows on the walls. The shadows were dancing around Isabel again, and she became mesmerized at it.

_Foolish little bird, _the voice whispered. _ Did you really think you could have it all?  
><em>

* * *

><p>They met again within the dark crevices and corners of the underground tunnels of the Red Keep, beneath the blanket of stars and a full white moon. Varys had imagined this would be the last time he would see his old friend again from Pentos for the next little while. Stannis Baratheon's impending attack on the city was nearing, and the waters surrounding the capital city was simply too dangerous for any more correspondence between them.<p>

"What news from the east?" Varys inquired, as he walked side by side with Magister Illyrio through the dark and windy tunnels.

"With the Khal dead, our princess has no army. Her dragons may not live to see the year if she does not seek shelter from the Red Waste," Illyrio said worriedly.

"I have full faith in our princess that she will somehow survive. She's got a fire that burns within her, a flame that won't be put out so easily… something her brother never had. And those dragons are a miracle to our cause…a blessing, a sign. Our time is coming - balance _will_ be restored to the realm."

"We still have no ships though Varys. And we have no army," Illyrio blatantly stated.

"The ships will come," Varys reassured him, "Isabel Arryn has already agreed to send three across the Narrow Sea. They will be docked in Braavos for the time being…and will be in Ser Jorah Mormont's command when the time comes."

"And our army?"

"An unfortunate nick in the road,' Varys replied, "We'll have to count on our friends here in Westeros, and perhaps a sellsword company or two."

"And Isabel? Has she committed to this? We need her house to back our support, otherwise everything we've worked for will be gone to ruins!"

Varys stopped walking and turned to face his larger counterpart. "Isabel Arryn…she's got her father's spirit. Defiant, independent and proud…she's promised me a marriage, and she's given me ships. I've no intention in putting any less trust in her."

"She's agreed to marry? Did you even tell her whom?"

Varys knowingly smiled, "Ah! An unfortunate flaw in our dear little bird. She assumes too much and asks too little. She was under the impression she was to marry Viserys."

"And you…have other plans for her?" Illyrio asked suspiciously.

"Isabel's betrothal is a powerful tool…I won't give it away that easily to just anybody that is not up for the task. There...are a few options for a suitor that are being put in play - friends of ours…friends with money, friends with power...and friends with armies. In time, Isabel will sail to the east and make her choice."

"But I hear your little bird has run off to the wolf pup. What makes you think she won't marry him in the middle of the night? You assume too much, old friend. You've begun to lose your touch!"

"I know she won't marry Robb Stark," Varys said sternly. "I know her too well. She loves the Vale more than she loves Robb Stark. She loves the Vale more than anything…she'll do whatever it takes to continue her father's legacy."

Magister Illyrio patted his friend back and let out a tired sigh. "Then you put too much trust in her."

They continued to walk in silence, each in their own brooding thoughts. For the Magister, he was a practical man. He saw this entire endeavour as an investment. Varys promised him gold, and promised him power. But now he was beginning to worry that this was all a distant dream that could never come true. The two friends had been preparing for this day ever since the days of the Mad King, and just when they were getting so close in achieving their goals, it seemed like the gods had begun working against them.

For Varys, he had never once doubted himself – _ever._ But could he be wrong this time? Did Varys put too much trust in Isabel Arryn?

A deep dark feeling emerged from the shadows and sent a fear through Varys' being. He didn't like fear. Fear was for the weak; for those who could be supressed; for those who didn't know how to play the game.

But now he was afraid whether Isabel Arryn would ever betray him.

* * *

><p>The horses galloped into the camp at nightfall, signalling the arrival of the Northern Army returning from their battle. The shouts and sounds easily woke Isabel from her ill-attempts at sleeping and in her half-awoken slumber, she grabbed the fur cloak that draped lazily on the wooden chair next to her bed and walked out into the cold, crisp air.<p>

The men were running around her, though all their faces and sigils they bore were unrecognizable to her. Some were looking for the nurses, others were tending to their injured comrades in arms. Isabel looked around, and spotted Robb in the distant, blood and dirt spattered all over his face. He looked angry, determined and tired and she watched him briskly walk into his tent, with the other lords that followed him.

Without knowing, she felt her feet walk towards his direction. A few quizzical looks were thrown in her direction. Many of the lords only knew her by name, and held a certain amount of suspicion towards her.

She opened the flap of the tent and found Robb and his lords huddle together over the wooden table to was in the middle of the floor. They were in a heated discussion, she could tell, as the fingers kept pointing at various location of the map they had all been studying.

"It's a three day's march from here. We can't make it in time! We'll be chasing Tywin's arse and that's no bloody use to us!"

Lord Umber's voice bellowed and shook the room, silencing his companions momentarily.

"This could simply be a diversion, Your Grace. Tywin Lannister is learning from you...learning your tricks. He could very well pull the same maneuver you pulled on him," suggested another.

Isabel cleared her throat, a feeble girlish attempt to get the attention of the Northern Lords. They all looked up, and stared at her momentarily unsure of how to act in front of a lady during a time of war.

"Isabel," Robb said suddenly, and she noticed that his eyes immediately lit up, sending a lovesick jolt through her heart. "You should be resting."

The other lords looked at her with slight disdain and discontent. She immediately recognized Black Walder Frey amongst the group, and she was quick to note that he almost sneered at her direction.

_I am my father's daughter_, she said to herself.

_I am ready to play this game._

Isabel held her head up high, and calmly walked over to the table glanced over at the map that currently lied in the middle of the table. "This is my war too," she stated.

Some of the lords tried to hold back their chuckle, but a quick look from their King immediately silenced them into submission.

"Isabel…" he began, "You need to rest. It's late, and the cold winds aren't good for you…go back to your tent. I will come by later and visit."

"Were my men with you? Did they ride out into battle with you? Did any of the Valemen die for you?" she continued to press.

She looked around the room, and noticed some of the lords dared not to look at her in the eye, but she dared not to break her gaze. Robb remained silent and cast his eyes down to the ground. "This is my war too," she repeated. "I deserve to sit in on this council, _Your Grace._"

At that moment, she felt no longer like the love sick girl in Winterfell. The young pair looked at each other, and neither of them could sense the longing they had for each other after months of separation. He was a king now, and a hardened warrior – Robb Stark was no longer a boy.

They both could sense the change between them, but neither of them wanted to admit it.

He gave a slight nod and motioned for her to sit down, as they continued to discuss their next battle strategies.

"Your Grace, We Freys have three thousand men at your command waiting to have their chance at battle and glory. I can lead the charge," declared Black Walder Frey.

Robb looked at him with wary, and gave out a huge sigh. "I need you here by my side, Lord Frey. Lord Karstark, how many men can you spare?"

A large bearded man, Lord Karstark spoke in a slow, but powerful tone. "I've two thousand with my son still. Rickard could lead the charge."

"Then you will lead the charge, and Lord Frey and I will round the attack and come from the east, with the sun in our favour." he commanded, and pointed at the battle map.

Lord Karstark nodded his head in agreement, "I will command him to leave tonight. We'll use the night to our advantage."

Robb looked up at Isabel and suddenly asked, "We'll need Ser Harrold to lead your men as a scouting party. We need him to track the Lannister's movements, and report back to us."

Isabel fumbled on her words, unable to keep up with the intensity and speed of the other lords. "Y-Ye-Yes..of course. I'll tell him at once," she stuttered out.

He nodded at the others and walked away from the table to a basin and splashed some water on his face. It was a silent command that their meeting was over. One by one, they gave a bow to their king and walked out. Isabel remained in her seat and watched each lord file out, and in particular watched Black Walder Frey as he glared at her as he walked out and left the young pair in private.

Neither of them said anything, and neither of them moved. Isabel fumbled with her hands, and felt suddenly afraid of looking up and into his eyes.

"Isabel…" he said finally, his hardened mask slipping away and revealing the boy from Winterfell she once remembered.

She felt him sit beside her and she looked up at him. His hand went to her cheek, and though his hand felt rough and cold against her skin, she welcomed it gladly.

His lips came crashing down upon hers and she responded with the same passion and energy. Her hands went behind his neck, as she pulled him closer to her body. Robb broke their kiss and began to place a trail of smaller, lighter kisses along her jawline until he reached her collarbone.

He exposed the scar that ran along the base of her neck, and he traced its cut with his fingers. His touch tickled Isabel, and she shivered at the sensation. Robb brought his lips down to her chest and placed three light kisses on it before bringing her hand to his lips and placing on last small kiss on it.

"Robb," she whispered, "I hear you are a king now…_Your Grace._"

Their lips met again, this time with a tenderness that caused Isabel to sigh out in pure content.

"I should have never have let you go," he desperately said. "I'll kill the Lannisters for what they've done to you. I'll kill them all."

"It was my own choice to walk into the lion's den," she confessed.

"When I found out…I..I felt my whole world crashing. I couldn't think…I just knew I had to get you back."

She affectionately stroked his face, and placed another kiss on his lips. "I'm here now…thanks to you," she whispered.

She gave him a sad smile, trying not to think about the betrothal that Robb promised to Walder Frey. But their fates were now sealed and the lives they would lead now chosen for them.

"You are to marry a Frey?" she found her asking, and could not help but hear her voice break as she spoke those fateful words.

His jaw immediately tightened, and his hand fell to his side. Robb's eyes were now filled with sadness and he cast them down to avoid Isabel's gaze. "I only agreed so my men could cross the Twins…I...I regret the moment I gave them my word. I love _you.._I want _you_ to be my wife, my queen…not some Frey girl."

Isabel took his hand and squeezed it gently. "It had to be done," she simply stated.

Deep down, she couldn't be mad for she was technically already promised to another.

"I'll find a way out of this Isabel," he declared before placing a longing kiss on her hand. "When this is all over, I'll tell Walder Frey I was promised to another. Everything will work out…you'll see."

She couldn't help but smile at his naivety, yet finding no comfort in his hope.

"We do not know what tomorrow brings," she faintly whispered and lazily tucked a strand of red hair behind his ear before placing another small tender kiss on his lips.

Robb stood up and walked around the table and poured himself a small cup of wine. He easily finished the glass before pouring another when all of a sudden he threw it across the room, letting its contents splash against the tent's fabrics and into the mud.

Isabel jumped from her seat in surprise, confused at the sudden outburst of emotion. Walking over to him, she placed her hands on his shoulders and let the young wolf envelope her into a hug with the furs of his cloak tickling her exposed skin. He kissed the top of her head, but refused to let her go.

"Everything I knew is falling apart," he confessed. "My father is dead, my family is torn…Bran is a cripple and my sisters are still missing. My mother wants me to trade Jamie Lannister for my sisters…and my lords want him dead. I want to go home…but I must keep marching south. This isn't the life I wanted…this isn't the life I envisioned."

Isabel looked up and affectionately stroked his face in an effort to soothe his temper, "We can't choose the life the gods fated us to have. All we can do is play their game well. Your sisters are safe…and your father..I'm sorry Robb…" she quietly replied, trailing off her voice into a low whisper.

"Did you see him?" he asked hopefully. "Did you...speak to him before he died? And my sisters?"

She felt her jaw tightened, unsure and conflicted to how much she should reveal. "They barred all visitors during your father's imprisonment…I only caught a glimpse of him before Joffrey executed him…but I know he wouldn't have confessed if he didn't think Sansa and Arya was in danger. He did what any father would have done…he didn't die a traitor, he died protecting his children..."

"I'll kill them all," he whispered again.

"They've wrong enough of us...their time will come. We will see them all fall," she assuredly said.

They held onto each other, entwined together while the candles on the table flickering its flame and shadows across the room, danced its nightly dance during the darkest hours of night. The young pair held onto each other, as if they were clinging onto their own fears with the only sole comfort they would find was in the warmness of their bodies and their tender touches.

For Robb Stark, he worried that this war would cost him to lose something he simply could not afford to lose. He worried for his family, his lands, and his love. He never wanted to play this game, and he was never prepared for it. All he really wanted to do was to go home to Winterfell and leave this world of war and politics.

For Isabel Arryn, she never stopped worrying. She worried for the day when Lysa Arryn would see her fall from grace, worried that she would fail her father and worried that she would lose everything that she worked. Most of all, she worried that she lost the motivation to play the game of thrones.

In her mind, she knew what had to be done, and Robb's unavoidable marriage to the Frey girl would have been the Seven's answer to her prayers.

Yet somehow, everything felt wrong.

_Why can't I have it all?_

_To play the game of thrones, _the voice in her head whispered, you_ need to give yourself into your fears. Accept your fate and make your moves._

_Which fate is condemned for me? _

This time, she could no longer ignore the sinister voice that called to her. She stared into the flames, and once again became mesmerized by the dance it had already begun, casted by its shadows and moved by the winds.

_Greatness is calling for you Isabel Arryn._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Phew! Reunion at last! Was it worth the gruesome wait? Hope I did Varys a little justice..for a calculating man who seems so calm all the time, I speculate what kind of fears our Master of Whispers really has.**

**Until next time! Our story continues!...xoxo**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25:**

Petyr Baelish never really liked writing very much. He found it tedious, useless and the black ink almost always stained the tips of his fingers, leaving his immaculate hands black and dirtied.

Despite his hatred for such an art, he found this particular letter enjoyable to write.

As his pen scratched its inked tip onto the parchment that laid on his desk, he could not help but form the triumphant smirk on his face. Before he knew it, he had begun humming a little tune that he knew from his childhood in Riverrun.

The very song Catelyn Stark used to sing to him when they were innocent children who frolicked in the fields of Riverrun.

"My lord seems happy today," Ros flirtatiously remarked, as she proceeded to cover her naked figure in her red silk robes.

She briefly battered her eyelashes to the customer that was exiting her room, to which the male proceeded to fondle her breasts with affection and hunger as a final act of farewell before departing the premises.

Petyr smirked at the male's indiscretion and mentally noted that hiring Ros was one of his better investments. She was a whore from Winterfell, but she was still quite a beauty even amongst all the Southerners and exotics from the East. She knew how to keep her customers happy at whatever cost, which made Petyr Baelish happy indeed.

"My moods are better lately," he remarked as he wrote his last sentence before signing with his own sigil.

He stood up and exited his room but made an effort to lightly pinch Ros on the cheeks, a sign of good gesture and continued encouragement that she was doing well in his establishment. He tightly held the letter to his chest, concealing its contents and proceeded his way to the Red Keep and Maester Pycelle to send his letter to the Eyrie.

Lysa Arryn had managed to send another letter to him, pleading for his help against Isabel. She was still confined to her chambers, and her supporters were without a plan nor leadership.

She was a helpless little thing, and Petyr Baelish relished on this fact.

He had already written his letters to her known supporters, and sought out those who still lingered near King's Landing. Some were sceptical, while others were intrigued at the gold coins which had mysteriously appeared in their pockets.

He smirked to himself again. The characters of men were all the same to him – they were always motivated by greed and power; and money was almost always the answer.

He reached the tower in record time, surprised at the speed he was walking. He found the Grand Maester who looked frail and broken hunch over one of his ravens, tenderly stroking its black feathers.

"Just the person I was looking for," Petyr delightfully said, still basking in his own content.

The Grand Maester looked up and gave a nod of acknowledgment as he set the raven back into its cage and locked it with a key that was attached to the metal chain of locks around his neck.

"Lord Baelish, what can I do for you?" he gently asked.

"A raven, if you will…one for the Eyrie," Petyr replied.

As the Grand Maester slowly waddled to the appropriate raven, he offhandedly asked, "Another letter to Lady Lysa Arryn?"

"In a sense. ..she is after all, a very dear friend of mine," Petyr replied.

"I trust her son is doing well? Is he still having any more of those seizures? Poor boy…the Seven are cruel to him to bestow such a sickness onto an innocent child."

"Lysa writes to me that her son is doing much better. He's know begun his private lessons with Maester Coleman, so I'm told. He grows more intelligent every day. Soon enough, he will grow into a strong young boy and will marry suitable and continue the Arryn line," Petyr mused, lost in his own thoughts.

"Not anytime soon, I would think. Lysa is very attached to her son…it would be years until she would be willing to let her son go."

He tied the letter to the Raven's leg and whispered a phrase to the bird to which Petyr could not understand. It was not of the common tongue, and Petyr wondered if it was some sort of ancient magic that the Grand Maester had acquired during his years in the Citadel. Within a blink of an eye, the raven disappeared into the sky until it was a little black speck and out of Petyr's sight.

_Let the chaos unfold._

"It's always hard for mothers letting their children grow up. Sooner or later, they fly from their nest never to look back. The Queen herself will one day have to let her children go," Petyr remarked, resuming their conversation.

"A doting mother, our Queen is," the Grand Maester praised. "Leaving Mrycella will be difficult for her."

Petyr Baelish raised an eyebrow, "You know?"

"It was Lord Tyrion's suggestion…the Queen is not very happy about it. But if this is the way to get the Martells to side with us again, then it must be done."

"Mrycella is going to _Dorne?_" Petyr asked suspiciously.

Unaware of the Master of Coin's confusion, the Grand Maester just nodded and was unable to finish his sentence before he found himself alone amongst the ravens.

Petyr Baelish had never walked as fast as he did. Whatever happiness that he had felt before was now washed away with humiliation and anger.

_I will not be outsmarted by a dwarf,_ he angrily declared.

He found the newly appointed Hand of the King sitting on the bench in a courtyard, and the very sight of him made his blood boil.

"I will not be taken for as a fool, dwarf!" he angrily yelled as he stormed down the corridor.

Feigning complete innocence, Tyrion Lannister put down his book and placed it calmly on his lap. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Our princess can't really go marrying Robert Arryn if she's already promised to a Dornish Prince, now can she? Did you forget to mention this fact before you had me singing songs to Lysa Arryn? Do not take me for some idiotic lord, imp! I am not to be meddled with!"

The Hand of the King cocked his head on one side, though his eyes gave away his deception.

"Whoops."

"And Harranhal? Regent of the Vale? Were those all lies too?" he angrily asked.

Tyrion hummed, neither admitting nor denying Petyr's accusations.

"I like you, Lord Baelish…I admire your ambition and I admire your wit," Tyrion began, "I think…you think you aren't appreciated enough in this court, am I right?"

Petyr Baelish narrowed his eyes at his smaller counterpart, immediately suspicious of the words the dripped from the Lannister's mouth.

"Stannis Baratheon's fleet will attack us any day now…and we have no ships to defend our coast lines. I still need you to broker an alliance with Lysa Arryn, except...this time without a marriage proposal," Tyrion demanded.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because you were planning to ruin Isabel Arryn regardless," Tyrion slyly suggested. "I'm not stupid…I know what goes on in that scheming head of yours. And I've met Jon Arryn's daughter…feisty little blue bird…no wonder Lysa hates her so much."

Petyr let himself relax his tensed muscle, still suspicious of Tyrion Lannister, but now curious at his next proposition.

Tyrion Lannister now paced back and forth, with his hands behind his back. "I want the Vale's ships. I want them on our side when Stannis attacks... I could care less who sits in High Hall, as long as they pledge loyalty to us."

"Then seek this alliance yourself," Petyr challenged.

"Lysa…is not fond of me," Tyrion knowingly replied. "You are the key to this puzzle...and you will be its mastermind."

"And let's say I humour you….what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"Do whatever you do best. Bribe, fuck, fuck some more, bribe some more," Tyrion coolly suggested who was now inspecting his fingernails. "So long as I get their ships, I don't care what state you leave the Vale. You can ruin their lands, and I will turn a blind eye."

"That's it?"

"Oh!" Tyrion added, "Maybe...just maybe you'll get Regent of the Vale."

"Now you tease me, Lannister," Petyr spat, "I don't like being toyed with."

Picking up his book, Tyrion held it firmly in his hands and proceeded to walk away from Petyr Baelish, but not before yelling so loud that his voice echoed between the stone walls on the castle.

"Then bring me those ships!" 

* * *

><p><em>His hands were around her throat again, squeezing the very breathe out of her lungs. Her eyes bulged out and her hands wailed at her attacker as death once again had begun to take her. He seethed and hissed at her, with his blood and sweat dripping over her face.<em>

_The dagger felt comfortable around her fingers and she wasted no time. The blade embedded itself into the attacker's neck by full surprise. His eyes widened and his body froze in shock, unable to comprehend the tremendous pain that erupted through him. He opened his mouth to speak, but only blood flowed out and onto her face below._

_She looked at the dagger that she stilled grasped onto tightly, blood spilling out from the wound and seeping in between her fingers and down her arms._

_The attacker tried to utter a word, his hands now around his own throat in a feeble attempt to save his own life._

_With the dagger still tightly clenched in her hand, she pulled it out and retreated back from the dying man, mesmerized in shock and awe as death overcame him._

Her body convulsed suddenly, and her eyes opened immediately. Her mind panicked for a quick moment, thinking her life was in danger once again.

Isabel looked around the dimly lit tent and noted the emptiness around her. The cold winds made her body shiver under the fur blankets, and the single candle that was placed on the wooden desk flickered with the wind. She noted the sweat that formed on her brow and her hands slightly shaking from her dream.

She took a deep sigh, trying to calm herself – although her heart could not stop pounding in her chest.

"It was only a dream," she murmured to herself.

Hesitantly, she laid back on her pillow and stared up at the dark ceiling above her. She sighed again and closed her eyes to rest once more.

But the moment she entered into the dream world, all she could see was the blood and the dagger. All she could see was the man's body on the dirt ground, his life slowly slipping away.

She opened her eyes again, and this time rose out from her bed and exited her tent.

The army was quiet tonight, with many of the men sleeping around the dying fire embers. Huddled in their own cloaks, some men snored, while other grunted in their sleep. The few men on night patrol made curious stares at her, silently wondering why such a lady would be up on a cold and dark night. But instead of speaking up, the knights merely bowed at her presence and continued on.

Isabel looked around her, unsure of where her feet were taking her. She arrived in front of Robb's tent, wanting to seek his comfort but thought better than disturbing the King of the North from his slumber.

After all, in the eyes of his men, Isabel Arryn was nothing more than a distraction.

She looked at the Stark sigil, flying above his tent and gave a deep sigh. The direwolf was a striking image that dominated the horizon and a sad realization that everything had changed.

Isabel continued on her walk past the sleeping men and lords, unsure of what the future held for her anymore.

"My lady?" a voice interrupted.

She looked up from the ground startled by the sudden noise that pierced through the silence. Talisa was huddled around a small burning fire and a small cauldron, brewing what Isabel could only assume was an herbal tea, meant for the wounded soldiers.

"Lady Talisa," Isabel greeted quietly and walked towards the female healer. "You should be sleeping."

"I could say the same for you, my lady," Talisa remarked. "You're still not fully recovered…you'll catch a fever like this."

She beckoned Isabel to come closer to the fire and motioned for her to sit while Talisa brought over a rough and dirtied, but warm thick cloak and put it around her shoulders.

"What about you?" Isabel asked, noting that the healer from Volantis only had on a thin cloak and apron on top of her dress.

Talisa smiled and looked down into the cauldron, stirring its contents, "You needn't worry about me."

A comfortable silence followed between the two women, both lost in their own thoughts and doings. Isabel huddled under the cloak and welcomed the warmth the flames emitted, while Talisa continued to tend to the brewing pot.

The flames of the fire hypnotized Isabel and she could not bring herself to stare at anything else but the flames. They danced around her, as they always did and if she stared long enough, Isabel could have sworn she was able to make out the dark shadows within them.

They begged her and called out to her in that sinister voice, taking her deeper and deeper into the darkness.

Within the flames, she could see her desires and the great temptations that burdened her. She saw the dead bodies of her most hated enemies, and she could almost hear the screams that followed.

It seemed so easy, she thought in that very moment staring into the red fiery flames.

_To win the game of thrones, you must sacrifice everything,_ the voice whispered.

_Give into your fear and everything shall be yours._

A sudden clang shook her out of the deep trance she had caught herself in and her eyes tore away from the flames. Talisa hissed in pain and cradled her hand in another as some of the boiling liquid had spilled on her skin.

"Here, let me," said Isabel.

She grabbed a clean cloth from the healer's box and took Talisa's hand into her own, inspecting if there were any serious burns.

"It's nothing," declared Talisa, but nonetheless accepted Isabel's help as she neatly wrapped the white fabric around the other woman's hand.

"How does a lady from Volantis end up in the middle of a war?" Isabel suddenly wondered out loud.

"How does any lady end up in the middle of a war?" Talisa asked back with a light smile on her face, secretly wondering about Isabel herself.

The two women broke up in a quiet chuckle. "A strange predicament, I suppose," Isabel admitted. "Though I'm sure my reasons are greatly different than yours."

"You are fighting for his Grace as well?"

"I too...am at war," Isabel replied quietly, "though sometimes I wonder if this is still my war to fight."

"I find war unnecessary…all these deaths, the screams, the anguish and pain. All for what? Power? Money? Land? A thousand men risk their lives for one great lord they'll most likely never meet. These men that die…in the end, death won't care whether you're a Lannister or a Stark…we're all just...flesh and bone."

"We fight for hope," Isabel argued. "Hope that…our lands, our kingdoms will be ruled by a better man that can look after its people. We fight to right the wrongs of those who commit injustice. Robb is at war for a good reason…and all these men had gladly given their lives to fight his cause."

"But at what cost?" Talisa wondered.

Isabel remained silent, unable to answer the very question that would so often persist in her mind.

"If we stopped…then it wouldn't be worth anything," she mumbled.

Isabel Arryn smiled at her counterpart and hugged her body tighter to keep herself warm. She closed her eyes, feeling a wave of tiredness overcoming her. And although the images of the dying man appeared before her eyes, she willed herself to sleep and embrace the darkness that she knew would inevitably overcome her. 

* * *

><p>She tapped her fingers on the wooden desk rather impatiently. Each time her finger collided against the grains of the wood, it sent a shot of adrenaline through Lysa Arryn's body as she waited for the latest news from the one visitor she was now allowed to see once a day. Her eyes suspiciously shifted to the young maiden who was watching over her son by the bay window. She knew the girl was a spy for Lord Nestor Royce, assigned to listen and watch over every movement she had made.<p>

And it made Lysa grow more impatient, fearful and angry as each day passed on.

A knock at her door alerted her attention and she immediately straightened her posture as her lady-in-waiting went to go fetch her visitor. Her hands not entangled with one another, she nervously squeezed her hands until she could hear the bones cracking between her knuckles.

A young man, proudly adorning the green and black sigil of House Waynwood bowed before her, his head humble staring at the ground and his hand gallantly placed at the hilt of the sword.

Ser Morton Waynwood was the eldest son and heir apparent to the old House of Lady Anya Waynwood – an old ally to Lysa who had once showed her kindness when the young Tully bride first arrived at the Eyrie.

"My Lady," he called out to her.

Lysa, careful to maintain her composure gave a slow nod, before glancing at the young girl at the back of her room.

"You may go," she instructed her, "take my son with you and you are to read to him in the drawing room. I wish to speak with Ser Morton in private."

The young girl, who could not have been more than seventeen summers old, took a small step forward and quietly answered, "My lady..I – "

"You are _my_ lady-in-waiting, are you not?" Lysa interrupted impatiently.

The young girl bowed down her head, "Yes, my lady."

"Then do as your lady says and leave us."

Without a second to spare, the young girl quickly whisked young Robert Arryn away to the other room and shut the door behind her, leaving Lysa Arryn in peace.

She quickly got up from her chair and invited the heir of House Waynwood to sit with her, as an equal and a careful gesture of friendship.

"Do you have any news?" she asked.

"Much has happened since we've last spoken to one another," Ser Morton began.

"Does Petyr write to you? Has he forgotten about me?" she continued to press on.

"Rest assure my lady, Lord Baelish is with you in thought," Ser Morton replied.

"And Isabel..is she…" Lysa began, but could not bring herself to finish her question.

The knight stood up and walked to the window and contemplated the beautiful view of the Vale mountains in the distance. Ser Morton had grown up in the Vale his whole life, with his sole dream to become a knight of the revered Valemen and to serve his Lord proudly as his father did before him.

In his eyes, Isabel Arryn was the usurper and Robert Arryn was the true heir.

"The assassin let her loose apparently," he quietly replied. "I don't know what happened…Lord Baelish was supposed to arrange for her escape...and from there we were to arrange her death…it was supposed to look like an accident. But the gods were good to her. Isabel Arryn...is safe with Robb Stark's army, along with the eight thousand men she now has at her grasp."

Lysa's eyes widened and her jaw tightened at the news, furious that Isabel had escaped death yet again.

"She's just a _girl," _Lysa hissed, "How hard is it to kill a girl?"

"Apparently, paying double what Lord Baelish paid wasn't enough," Ser Morton remarked.

"Where is the assassin now?"

"Only the Seven knows…you know what these men from the East are like. He hasn't even come to collect the remaining money that is owed to him. Perhaps he sees no honour in his failed task."

"Or perhaps he has gone to finish what he started," Lysa hoped.

"What is our next plan of action, my lady?" Ser Morton asked.

"What does Petyr say in his letters?" Lysa foolishly asked.

"You need to rid yourself from the influences of old Nestor Royce," Ser Morton instructed, "You need to reach out to the people and gain their support. Isabel has an advantage over you because she knows every lord of all the houses in the Vale…she knows how to manipulate them, charm them and woo them with her words. But you, my lady…you have the common people's love. Do you think they want her to rule? They want your son as Lord of the Vale...they _know_ that your son is the rightful heir."

"The pe-people?" she hesitantly repeated.

"You cannot buy love," Ser Morton suggested, "It is gained and nursed like a mother breasting a child. Win their love…and win the throne."

"I..don't..k..know.." Lysa trailed off, unsure of what her beloved Petyr wished her to do.

"Leave that to us…and soon my lady, Lord Baelish will come to the Vale and set you free," he promised.

Ser Morton retrieved a crumble piece of folded parchment and handed it to Lysa Arryn, with the unmistakable handwriting of the Master of Coin.

"Our friend Lord Baelish," Lysa said adoringly as she took the letter from the young knight and opened it to read the contents.

"Play the game wisely, my Lady…and we will win the seat back for your son," Ser Morton said.

Lysa Arryn however did not hear the words of the knight from House Waynwood. Instead, she became lost in her own dream world – a world where she and Lord Petyr Baelish were united together forever.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for the late updates. As Talisa is purely a character created for the TV series, I plan to purely speculate her character and so it will begin stray away what has already happened during Season 2. Lysa Arryn has her gears running - will Isabel be able to see what dangers are coming? Until next time! -xoxo**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26:**

The cries of shouting men pierced through the chilled air and rang through the camps of the Northern army. Startled, Isabel quickly exited her tent at the shouts of Robb's name, curious to find out what news the bannermen were bringing back from the battlefield.

Westeros hadn't seen the high summer sun in many days, as the thick grey clouds hung low from the sky. The air was thick with fog, with the lingering smell of blood, sweat and stench and sent an uneasy feeling to the pit of Isabel's stomach.

"Love live the King of the North!"

"King of the North!"

"Kill the Kingslayer! Kill the Kingslayer!"

The voices of the men shouted over one another, while some shouted and cried out. Their swords and axes pierced out up the air, chanting over and over again.

Isabel walked over to the mass crowd, trying desperately not to collide with the rowdy soldiers. The few which recognized her made way and bowed their heads before resuming to their activities.

As she pushed her way into the circle, she noticed a man in chains, bound and bloodied bent over his knees lying in the mud. The soldiers spit on him, jeered on him and kicked him, while the prisoner kept his head low.

"What's going on?" Isabel asked to nobody in particular.

"We've caught the Kingslayer!" shouted a northern bannermen.

Isabel's eyes widened, in complete disbelief that the defeated and broken man lying in front of her was the Jamie Lannister she was so well acquainted with in King's Landing. They seemed like two completely different men – and yet, upon closer inspection, the resemblance was unmistakable.

Her jaw clenched and she curled her hands into a tight fist. She, like every soldier amongst her wanted nothing more than to slit his throat. She blamed him for her father's dead; blamed him for her own misfortunes; blamed him for Ned Stark's downfall.

Isabel Arryn wanted Jamie Lannister dead.

But reason calmed her down, and she knew that his life was more valuable to the army alive than dead. This was an advantage to Robb, if he could make the right political maneuvers and would keep Tywin's army at bay for now.

Isabel scanned around the crowd, looking for any member of Robb's war council and her heart sank when the only person her eyes fell upon was Black Walder Frey.

A lord who has made no effort to show his distaste towards her.

"My Lord," she called out to him, "What does the king intend to do with this prisoner?"

Walder Frey scoffed at her, "I'd have the limbs of the Kingslayer be ripped off one by one and fed to my dogs."

"I didn't ask what you wanted to do with Ser Jamie, I asked what your king intends to do," Isabel shot back, slightly taken back by the larger man.

"He's not _my_ king," he menacingly whispered, but only loud enough for her to hear.

Before she could say anything further, he stormed away along with a handful of Frey men before his back disappeared amongst the other soldiers.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and the voices inside her head began talking again. The voice of her father whispered into her ear, as if he was right behind her.

_Trust is the most foolish virtue_, he had once told her.

Isabel turned her attention back to Jamie, who was still staring at the ground which made Isabel wonder whether he was still alive at all. To the shock of the army and herself, Isabel found herself walking towards the Kingslayer until his crouched body was right below her very nose.

At that very moment, she truly understood what it felt like to have true power.

As if sensing her presence, Jamie Lannister finally raised his head, and even in his state, behind the strands of hair which dangled in front his face, Isabel could see the Lannister arrogance that he always infamously held in his smirk.

"Miss me?" he asked.

Unfazed by him, Isabel knelt down until she was at his eye level and ignored the whispering curiosities and confused look of the soldiers around them. She brought her head just close enough beside his ear. "You will remember," she began to whisper, "at this very moment…what it feels like to be completely hopeless…and powerless."

Jamie let out a small chuckle, "A small nick in the road."

"Oh I doubt it," she sneered back.

"I'm surprised you made it out alive," he commented, "Oh I've heard the stories…the little blue bird gallanting into my father's army. Dear, dear, dear Isabel, not everybody is a warrior. Go home to your hearth and do what maidens do."

Her eyes widen and jaw clenched. "You're lucky your head is worth more to Robb attached to your neck than it is on a spike," she shot back.

"And where is your King now? I'm surprised he's letting his little lapdog prance around his army."

The fire within her ignited and before she could come to her senses, her hand flashed across her eyes and immediately stung from the impact she made.

The sudden impulse brought a momentary shock and silence around her, before the soldiers began to shout and cry even louder than ever before.

"Ouch," he dryly replied.

The crowd again went silent and this time Isabel looked up. Robb was standing at the edge, looking on with some curiousity and anger at her exchange with the Kingslayer. She was unsure how long he had been standing there, but she suddenly felt uneasy under his glare.

Jamie, also following her lead turned his head and took a deep gulp upon seeing Robb's face. Isabel turned towards him, sensing the discomfort and fear that overcame the Kingslayer and inwardly smiled at his displeasure.

"Don't worry," she echoed, "I look out for the underdogs."

"What? You won't let them kill me? Are you…defending my honour Isabel? I'm so touched…I didn't know you felt that way about me. I should have known after all these years…those stolen glances, that cute little giggle. You should have told me…I could have, oh, satisfied your desires." Jamie shouted out mockingly.

Before Isabel could answer, Robb stepped up and interjected. "I could have your tongue cut out if I wanted to. I could have your arms broken…or that pretty little face slashed up."

"Then why don't you? Or is the Northern King still a pup? Just like your father…all talk. It's what got him killed in the first place." Jamie wondered.

Robb sneered and his hand went to his hilt instinctively and proceeded to unsheathe his sword. Almost immediately, Isabel put her hand on Robb's forearm – a silent command to stop.

Robb looked at Isabel with the same intense gaze but said nothing to her, though she felt himself relax.

"Oh...just look at that. The little lovebirds," Jamie continued to mock. "What's that now? Can it be true? A simple touch of Lady Isabel Arryn silencing the great King of the North? Not very kingly now, is it?"

She knew what he was doing, and so did everybody else that was no observing their exchange. But before she could do anything to defend her own honour, Robb immediately spoke up.

"Lady Arryn, go back to your tent. I will call for your council along with my lords in the evening," he commanded.

Slightly shocked at his behaviour, it took more than a few seconds to realize she was being dismissed.

"I've every right to be here," she whispered under her breathe in a low whisper.

"No lady should be in the middle of a war," he shot back. "I won't ask again Isabel…go back to your tent."

Speechless, she couldn't do anything but obey him. Underneath the harsh stares of the common soldiers, Isabel Arryn uncomfortably left the area in the likeness of a little lame lamb being herded into a pen.

_So this is it,_ she thought to herself. _This is my sacrifice._

_Foolish little bird,_ the voice hissed to her.

* * *

><p>There were only but a few moments during the day where Talisa was able to get away from the chaos and cries of men and have a moment to herself. Being the field nurse was exhaustively painful and tiresome, but she didn't have any other choice.<p>

She knew this was her calling; as if the gods had spoken to her.

She washed her hands in the little basin and slowly watched as the clear cold water turn into a dark, murky red colour. And even though she washed off the dried and fresh blood of the soldiers off thoroughly, she could still see and smell the faint scent of blood that she was sure was now painted on her skin.

Taking a huge sigh, Talisa went over to her bag and rummaged through her belongings before grabbing a tattered leather pouch. She traced her fingers over its grained before untying the string and opening it to reveals its contents.

A light smile formed on her face and was quickly reminded why she had come to Westeros in the first place.

_It's all for you,_ she thought to herself.

Finally, she pulled out a small scroll of blank paper and quill writing one last message before she had to resume to the healer's tent. Talisa didn't fully understand the plans she was had been unknowingly a part of, nor did she really want to find out. At times, she felt uncomfortable for spying on Isabel Arryn for she thought the Westeros highborn lady was a kind and strong-willed woman.

But there were many things Talisa didn't fully understand about Westeros customs. The only thing she did know for certain was that she was here for one reason.

_He depends on this,_ she told herself.

Rolling the parchment into a small scroll, she put the tiny message into her pocket and reminded herself to send it out with the raven when night came upon them.

She hated the secrecy, the lies and deceit…but it seemed almost inevitable to rid herself from its influence.

* * *

><p>Isabel lost her appetite by the time dusk was approaching. Instead, she found herself pacing around her tent for the remainder of the day, restless and unable to calm herself down.<p>

She should have known better than to think things could have been different. She was foolish to think otherwise, yet the foolish lovesick girl from her youth was pulling at her skirts. Isabel could almost see her younger self laughing and giggling, batting her eyelashes while being chased by the younger boy around the room.

Life was so simple then, she mused.

But everything was different, and within a blink of an eye, the two children disappeared from her sight and Isabel Arryn was faced with a stark reality.

She was alone, cold and angry in an empty room with a barren wooden table, a dying flickering candle and a poor small bed. This was a far contrast from the life she had envisioned – it wasn't supposed to be like this.

None of this should have happened, she bitterly thought.

The tent flapped open and she was pulled out of her dark thoughts and turned to see who her visitor was. Her mood remained sour and her frown deepened at the sight of Robb, still dressed in his armour and fur cloak, and she made no effort to hide her displeasure.

"I didn't see you at dinner…the field nurses say you've been skipping your meals lately," he commented and he put a bowl of a mysterious concoction of meat on the table. "You need to eat Isabel, you haven't fully recovered."

Unfazed by his concern, Isabel bit the inside of her cheek to keep her composure. "I didn't think you still cared," she stated.

Robb's jaw clenched but said nothing to soothe her feelings, "I'm not going to apologize for what I did earlier today. You shouldn't have been there to see all that…and you could have been seriously hurt by the men. The next time you decide to venture into the barracks, you are to have Ser Harrold or one of your Valemen with you."

"And what gives you the right to command me?" she angrily said, "I am not your bannermen, or your soldier, or your servant! Gods, I'm not even your wife!"

"I know," he whispered.

"I am the Lady of the Vale," she shouted, "I command an army that could rival yours! I hold the same titles and rights as any lord in the Seven Kingdoms. I am the first-born child of Jon Arryn, former Hand of the King! I was a member of the small council of King's Landing. And this is what I get? Treated like a bar wench…and of all people, _you? _ You embarrass me in front your men? And of all people, in front of Jamie Lannister?_"_

"What will you have me do?" Robb retorted back with a voice far louder than he had expected. "What will my men think of me if they see a woman commanding a king?"

"Who cares what the common soldiers think. Let them relish in their own gossip," Isabel attempted to reason.

"_I_ care, Isabel. I care because they look to me for morale and support. They look to me for guidance and strength. Most of them don't you know you are Isabel. They don't know your story…who your father is. They just see a woman prancing around in the battlefield…and that raises certain questions."

"What kind of questions?" she hissed, with no hint of her anger subsiding.

Robb didn't answer and looked at the ground, and his demeanour told Isabel the answers she was looking for. A sob reached her throat and she helplessly tried to hide it through a fake laugh. But she couldn't hide the tears that threatened to form at the corner of her eyes.

"They think I'm your _whore_?" she disbelieving asked.

"Isabel…" he began.

"Stop!" she shouted and took a step back from the Northern King.

"I've been so foolish. This is not my war to fight and it never was...I'm tired Robb. I should have never returned to King's Landing. All I want to do is to go home," she quietly said to herself, finally admitting defeat.

"As do I," he said with a heavy heart.

She put both her hands into her face and buried her sadness and sorrows within them, wanting to hide the tears from him. Robb's arm engulfed her shoulders and Isabel found herself buried in his furs. He affectionately kissed her brow and stroked her back in an effort to calm her.

"I should have never come back to Winterfell…after so many years, I thought I could just forget about you. But then there you were…all grown up, like a man. And-," she said.

"I should have never have asked you .. for something you could not give…you were right. Like you always are," Robb added.

"What do we do?" Isabel asked helplessly, still hiding her face in his chest, "You are to marry a Frey...and I…gods know what I must do."

"I could marry you," Robb said in all seriousness. "I don't need the Frey alliance anymore. You have an army...we could unite our banners."

"Don't be foolish Robb…you don't want to double-cross the Freys. If you go back on your word…they will go back on theirs. You don't want to go into another war with another house."

"I don't want to marry a Frey girl…I want to marry you," he said, before lightly placing a tender kiss on Isabel's lips.

In that moment, Isabel was brought back into her memories. They were young lovers again, under the godswood tree in Winterfell. The world around them was so simple and carefree and for a very small moment, Isabel felt happy and whole.

"You _cannot_ break this alliance…not even at the expense of me...of us. There's too much at stake…despite what your heart tells you, you need to think like a King," she reasoned.

"So what will we do?" he helplessly asked.

She brought her hand up to his cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin and beard through her fingers as a single tear fell onto her cheek. He brought his lips down and kissed the very spot it had landed before bringing his lips down upon her own. Their fingers entwined with one another, they chose at that instance to forget about their worries and woes.

_I don't know,_ she sadly thought.

Yet deep down, she knew what had to be done.

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><p>The two men huddle over the wooden table, downing the last drop of cold ale in their small gold cups before resuming their hushed conversation with one another. Neither of them held any likeness for one another, and made no effort towards their hatred on their faces.<p>

Black Walder Frey and Harrold Hardyng simply didn't trust each other.

But they both had a common enemy – and each had an ultimate goal in mind.

"Did you see them today? The men are beginning to talk," observed Ser Harrold.

Black Walder Frey grunted loudly and cursed under his breathe. "Her very presence is an insult to my father and our house. You better control that little lady of yours…she acts like a lord and walks around this camp as if she's _something._"

"Let her live in her dreams…for now," Ser Harrold tried to reason.

"I'm getting impatient! I want her gone!"

"Due time, Lord Frey. Good things comes for those who wait," he replied.

The larger man broke out in laughter until tears had begun to form in his eyes. Ser Harrold, bemused and perplexed wasn't entirely sure if it was the ale that caused this outburst, or it was something he had said.

"You Valemen..so virtuous and knightly," Walder Frey cried out in between breathes, "Were you nursed by your wetmaid as children too long?! No, Ser Harrold…good things come for those you take it!"

"And what do you suggest? What is your grand plan? Just kill her? That wouldn't be suspicious at all...she's in the protection of Robb...he's not stupid...you know, he'll suspect us. It'd only be a matter of time."

"Poison is a damn good option," Lord Frey muttered under his breathe, "If you're so smart, what's your plan?"

"I must say Robb and Isabel are already doing a fine good job and creating a certain level of…questionable honour between them. The men aren't stupid…they know and they talk. So let them talk…let them doubt their king. All we have to do is…facilitate it. Encourage it, and breathe fire into it."

"It still doesn't get rid of our little problem."

"Leave Isabel to me," Ser Harrold declared. "I've news from home…from my own house. Things are beginning to stir at home. Plots, plans, and betrayals. Isabel Arryn won't be sitting in her high seat for much longer. She'll be forced to go home…and then straight through the Moon Door."

With the sudden declaration, Lord Black Walder Frey filled their cups once more until the ale perfectly aligned with the rim. The two scheming men raised their glasses, letting the liquid spill down their arms.

"To victory," Ser Harrold offered.

"To hell," Walder Frey corrected.

An uneasy feeling overcame Ser Harrold, and a moment of doubt washed over his conscious. He was knowingly betraying his closest kin and all for what? It still didn't get him any closer to the seat in High Hall. Isabel's younger brother and his mother was still in the way, and he still hadn't the slightly clue as to how he would cast them aside.

_To Hell._ It was almost an invitation to go down an irrevocable path, and he feared for what he might do in order to realize his greatest desires.

Truthfully, Ser Harrold wasn't entirely sure if he was ready for to venture into the dark flames.

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><p><strong>AN: A little insight on my spin of Talisa's character! So who's excited for the new season! -xoxo**


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27:

**A/N: The long awaited chapter...apologies, this sort of fell off the bandwagon. I also got stuck with the plot line and couldn't bring myself to continue it.. But I suppose with the beginnings of the new season, it seemed fitting to try and continue this story. Thanks again!**

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><p>Tyrion Lannister stretched his sore neck from a sleepless night as he strolled through the corridors of the Red Keep. He was tired, anxious and restless, having spent the last few days reading almost every single book in the royal library that had relation to famous battles and sieges of King's Landing.<p>

Stannis Baratheon and his fleet was almost at their doorstep and Tyrion knew full well that the army of King's Landing would simply not be strong enough to defeat them. Yet no one in his family seemed to recognize the perils they were in. Not King Joffrey, not his dear sister, or even Varys. And it was this daunting fact that kept him up most nights.

As he walked through the courtyard, he suddenly caught the sight of his two favourite adversaries that he often enjoyed conversing with – even if they were enemies.

The coin and the spider were standing face-to-face like a enbattled old married couple, huddled deep within their own conversation that they did not notice Tyrion at all.

Ah! The advantages of being a dwarf, he joked to himself.

Curiosity simply got the best of him, knowing full well the number of plots and schemes Petyr Baelish and Varys had brewing in their heads. He knew they hated one another for reasons he could not completely understand, always trying to outdo the other; best each other's game. However Tyrion was never quite able to figure out what their end goals were – or if there was one at all.

Which is precisely he needed to keep an eye on them. He placed himself behind a column and crouched closer to the floor and remained completely still.

"It seems like our little bird survived the perilous escape from King's Landing right into Robb Stark's camp. Surely, it would seem that she could not have escaped with some help. Forgive my curious flaw, but the mystery is simply too much for me to handle. I must ask, Lord Baelish if you had heard anything?"

Petyr Baelish chuckled in amusement.

"What makes you think I had anything to do with it? If it were up to me, I'd have that Arryn girl's head on a spike. She's been nothing but a sore wound on my side. I'd have you to thank for that, Varys. You've taught her well – she lies and schemes just like the spider who weaves his web of intrigue so deep that he's got the entire court caught in it," he replied with distate.

"I _do_ have my uses," he knowingly agreed. "And yet I heard a curious rumour today that tells me you might have had a bigger role in her escape. If its true, I'm not sure how the Lannisters would react...perhaps your head on a spike?"

"Amuse me," Petyr sneered. "What rumours have you heard? What have your little spiders told you?"

Tyrion, still in his hiding spot suddenly became even more interested in this conversation. Cersei had thrown a fit when she found out her only leverage to maintain the status quo against the Vale had mysteriously disappeared from her grasp. It was the last straw for Cersei Lannister – her hostages were disappearing or dying one by one ruining their advantage of controlling their enemies. It was something he knew his dear father would not tolerate for much longer.

"A mystery man, from the east arrives in King's Landing. I pose a question: what does a slave from Volantis have business here?" Varys began to ask.

"Many men from the east comes to King's Landing. It's called trade and commerce," Petyr retorted.

"Ah! But this one ended up at one of your brothels. And I must say, he was quite recognizable. So many intricate markings on his face – even if he did make the effort to hide his face."

"Stop talking in circles and just accuse me," Petyr stated, suddenly growing impatient of Varys' riddles.

"Why did you help her? You know Cersei needed Isabel in King's Landing. It was the only way to keep the Vale from entering the war."

"The Vale is already involved," he coolly reminded his counterpart. "Every minute she sleeps with the wolf, she's involved. Every minute she disobeys Cersei's orders, she's involved. Every minute she rallies her allies, she's involved."

"So you admit your role?"

"I admit that I was trying to help the realm, just like you. I simply took another perspective, by removing her from the equation. She's an obstacle. The sooner we get rid of her, the better. Call it collateral damage – I'm sure you're familiar with the term," he explained.

"But it seems like your plan failed then," Varys corrected. "Isabel Arryn is still alive...still sleeping in wolf's den."

"All plans are subject to failure. Perhaps I did not give enough coin to entice her guide to finish her off."

Varys gave a knowing smirk and glanced sideways towards the floor. "Hm, perhaps not all men are motivated by coin," he suggested.

"What is Isabel Arryn to you?" Petyr suddenly asked. "You protect her, then abandon her...and then decide to protect her again. I know you Varys all too well. You feign friendship, but you use your friends to a means to an end. We all know that Varys, Master of Whispers doesn't have any true friends. So tell me: is Isabel Arryn just another little chess piece in your game? Do you even care for her well-being?"

"And you mean to tell me you care?" Varys shot back.

"I admire her ability to remain an opposing problem. And her ability to avoid death."

"We all have our roles to play in this game...and she is simply not yet done playing. I am just a humble man, helping her through her journey," Varys cryptically replied.

"Now that's a certainly a curiosity," Petyr mused, "What is your role in the game of thrones? A bishop? No, you are no man of religion. A knight? But I do not see your sword. Perhaps you're just a pawn like all of us...useless and...dispensible."

"Yet most people underestimate the power of pawns. Even the smallest and weakest men can take down an entire kingdom," Varys warned.

Their voices gradually became quieter and Tyrion peered over the edge to see the two men departing in opposite directions, leaving him alone in the courtyard.

_Which game are you playing, Isabel Arryn_, Tyrion mused.

He suddenly did not like the prospect seeing the Vale's ships with Stannis' fleet. It would seem, it would only be a matter of time before Isabel Arryn showed her true allegiance. It was a legitimate concern – Isabel Arryn controlled some of the strongest ships in Westeros. Yet deep down, Tyrion already answered his question.

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><p>Isabel could only look on helplessly as Robb paced back and forth in his tent. She picked up the torn parchment from the dirt floor and read its message with a heavy heart. She was filled with sadness, anger and sorrow and could not even imagine what Robb was thinking at the moment – or if he was even thinking at all.<p>

A loud clash startled her, and she jumped in her seat at the sudden outburst by the King of the North.

"I'm going to kill him myself," he seethed.

"You couldn't have predicted this," she tried to reason.

"Well I should have!" he yelled back. "I send Theon back to his father...the same man who had rebelled against Winterfell. The same man who had his only son taken away to be raised by his enemies. I should have guessed that Balon Greyjoy would have tried make a move against us."

Robb stood perfectly still, in a feeble attempt to calm himself down. But the anger, hurt and betrayal could be felt; the tension hanging in the stale air. Isabel stood up and cautiously approached him, and wrapped her arms underneath his fur cloak. She placed her head against his chest and listened to his fast heartbeats, unable to subside the anger within him.

Almost instinctively, he wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders and held her tight, burying his face at the based of her neck. She let her hand graze through his hair, letting the King of the North grieve for his home.

"I'm going to kill him," he whispered again.

"What of Bran and Rickon? How is your mother doing?" she asked.

"The letter didn't say...we can only hope and pray to the gods that he's kept them alive for ransom. My mother is...in pieces. First my father, then my sisters...just when we thought Bran and Rickon were safe...Winterfell is gone." he replied bitterly.

"There there is hope," Isabel stated. "We can capture the North and retake Winterfell. Theon is no warrior, and he's a coward with no honour. He will not hold Winterfell for very long."

"My fight is here in the Riverlands, Isabel. I cannot tear my army apart and fight two wars from both sides...I don't have enough men. And I don't trust the Freys or their bannermen."

Isabel took Robb's face and cupped his cheeks which were damp from his silent tears into her hands. "You have enough men Robb Stark. The Lannisters are in disarray as well. They have the entire fleet of Stannis Baratheon to worry about and Tywin Lannister is not going to ignore King's Landing when he attacks - you know he will retreat."

"Which is why I need my men to be ready when Tywin leaves the Riverlands. I plan to attack Casterly Rock when his attention is at King's Landing!"

"But it puts the war at status quo. With Tywin's attention to the South, you can put together a plan to take back the North. Somebody loyal to you..a Northerner; Great Jon Umber, maybe?"

"I need my best men here," Robb reiterated.

"Bolton, then?" Isabel suggested. "As much as I do not like the man, he retains a large number of bannermen. Perhaps speak to him or - "

His lips suddenly came upon her own, cutting her words. He was desperate, hurt and confused – at this moment, Isabel was the only thing that felt real to him. He kissed her nose and then her forehead, but let his lips linger on her skin.

"This is not your fight Isabel," he reminded her gently. "I did not ask you to help me retake the North...I suddenly understand how you feel. Fighting for your home...and fighting against the Lannisters. How do you do it?"

She kissed him again and smiled against his lips. "I would not have the willpower to keep fighting without knowing that you are by my side. The fight is worth nothing if you do not have something to live for."

"I feel like I've already lost what I'm fighting for," he said worriedly.

"Never forget who you are, my love. You fight for your father, your brothers, your sisters and your home. That fight will never die out..._never_. It will always fuel your heart,." she stated.

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><p>Isabel had stayed with him until she was finally able to convince him to rest his eyes. Robb needed his energy if he was going to fight two wars no, and it pained her to see him so conflicted and angry. Her head was laid against his chest with the fur cloaks engulfed around her as she methodically listened the Robb's heartbeats. However unlike her king, Isabel could not find the peace to rest for the night. Theon's betrayal had put her deep in thought, making her reflect upon her own journey.<p>

If Theon was able to betray the Starks without remorse or guilt- a family that raised him like their own son, then how different was she?

_The winds howled throughout the night, blowing through the open windows sending the flames and light in different directions across the room. Her ladies-in-waiting had given her extra blankets, warning her of the oddly cold and rainy night during the summer season. _

_"__Are you sure the winds won't break down the castle walls?" she innocently asked._

_Her septa laughed while she tucked the young Arryn girl in. "I'm sure, my lady. These castle walls are very strong. It will take more than tonight's storm to break the stone."_

_Isabel was not satisfied, for her naive and blissful mind was convinced that the gods were trying to blow her home down. _

_She watched as her ladies-in-waiting left and she lied perfectly still while she counted until sixty before jolting back up and quietly tiptoed out the adjacent wooden door which lead to the nursery room where her newborn brother had slept._

_He was barely six months old now, but was doted upon by his mother as well as their entire household. He had those big blue eyes, pale white skin and rosy cheeks that would make anybody smile. The ladies mused that one day, the young Robert Arryn would certainly be a heart breaker._

_But Isabel completely disagreed with all of them – she thought her brother as a monster; an abomination to the Arryn line._

_And tonight, she was going to fix that. She looked into his crib, and despite the thunder and lightning, her brother was soundly asleep under his blankets and fur. _

_It would only take one second, she convinced herself. One second and it would just be her again – like it always was._

_She went to the window and opened it, letting the rain and the cold air right into the room. The sudden change in temperature sent a shiver through her body and she held her breathe, afraid Robert might wake and start crying._

_But the room remained completely silent. She looked into the crib again, and saw his body slightly tremble and stir. Cautiously, she took his blankets and cast them aside, now leaving a barren newborn defenceless against the night storm and cold winds._

_Isabel found herself taking steps back, distancing herself from her room. She held her breathe, counting to sixty waiting until her brothers cries would eventually alert the maester to the room._

_But still, the room remained silent except for the howling storm. _

_Her back was now against the stone wall, and she was about to exit the room and return to her own peaceful slumber. The plan had simply gone too perfect. By the time they had discovered Robert, he would be wrought with a fever and if the gods were merciful, they would send him to the heavens._

_As high as honour, another voice whispered._

_This is not the way of the Andals, of your ancestors, it whispered again._

_A growing guilt began to plague her conscience and she suddenly become conflicted. Would she dare leave her brother at the fate of the gods? Or would she, in the name of her family, protect him?_

_Robert began to stir and whimper, and Isabel knew she had to make her decision fast. His cries slowly became louder and louder and she felt herself stuck against the wall, unable to move or call for help. It was as if the gods were telling her to leave her brother's fate in their hands – an answer to her prayers and dreams._

_The door suddenly opened and Isabel was quick to react. She leaped forward from the shadows, just as Maester Coleman entered to check on her brother._

_"__What is the matter?" he asked warily, suspicious of Isabel's sole presence._

_She made sure her mask was in place, replacing her true intentions with one of a caring sister. "I heard his whimpering from my room, Maester. The shutter must have blown open from the storm."_

_The maester cautiously went towards the crib to check on Robert and covered his body with his blankets again. Isabel gulped, afraid that she was caught and would be in serious trouble. She stood perfectly still and watched as Maester Coleman placed two fingers on Robert's neck and then caressed his cheeks to lull him back to his previous slumber. He then walked over to the window and closed the shutters, latching them together so they wouldn't break open again._

_He turned and gave one long and hard look at her. Her heart dropped to her stomach – he knew she was lying. Isabel closed her eyes and readied herself for a reckoning._

_"__It is late Isabel, go back to bed," he gently said._

_"__...what?" she said in confusion._

_"__I expect you to be in the study at first light tomorrow. We are rehearsing the High Valyrian language, remember? I need you and that sharp mind of yours to be ready. Now go on, off to bed," he instructed._

_Still confused, she took a step forward towards the master. _

_"__But...Maester Coleman? Aren't you..Weren't you..," she found herself fumbling her own words, unable to form a sentence, "Aren't you going to..tell my father?"_

_His eyes gave away a knowing look and he let own a huge sigh. "If I told your father every time you were out of bed, your father would never have a peaceful night."_

_"__But... -"_

_"__But what, Isabel?" he pressed._

_She opened her mouth, wanting to ask him but decided to keep silent. Perhaps the gods were still on her side, and perhaps this was a secret that will never be discovered._

_"__It's nothing...good night, Maester Coleman," she quietly said, before slipping back into her own quarters._

The memory sent another chill down her spine, and she huddled against Robb's body for warmth. He unconsciously tightened his grip around her waist and nuzzled his face in her hair.

Theon Greyjoy was no different than her, and yet she had condemned him as a traitor and coward. But who was she to judge? She was guilty of the same charges, of the same treachery and betrayal. Yet somehow, she was seen as the hero, while Theon, Cersei and her little brother were seen as the enemies that needed to be put down.

Maester Coleman had never spoken of that night, Isabel suddenly noted. Nor did his feelings towards her ever changed. He had remained her closest and best tutor, never holding ill feelings towards her. But they both knew because of that fateful night, Robert would never grow into the handsome lord the ladies-in-waiting had once dreamt of. Robert's first seizure occurred shortly after that night, and it became a constant curse for Isabel – a stern reminder of what she was capable of.

And it truly scared her.

She looked up at Robb's face and gave him a light peck on the lips, letting the kiss linger for a few moments. Carefully, Isabel tore herself from Robb's entangled arms and removed herself from his sleeping form. She felt her heart breaking once again – but this time, she wasn't sure if she had a heart anymore. Everywhere she looked, she would see darkness at every corner, an enemy ready to attack, and a young boy with big blue eyes and rosy cheeks staring at her.

_I started this war a long time ago. It's time I finish it and seal my fate._

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><p><strong>AN: Enjoy! xx**


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